cloud covered forests and fields, the still noise, pawprints in the grass, the moonlight allows gentle shapes to take place and segment colours. From mess to a mirage, eyes adjust, a shiver through the trees winding branches, frozen in place, no time or space. The ground a thin cold sheet that could shatter this moment letting the darkness seep through. The wind, the glue holding together the present. The magpie told me he sees with his feather, there is no tether but the contrast of black and white. He said that, and took flight into and through the night.
A breeze washes over the land, to find raw skin, dotted and gashed by brothers and sisters. Bled by time and healed by new life. Roots intertwined loving the earth. The moon a watchfull eye, mesmerizing all it sees, kissing the blood red sky. A hare lay bare, unbenowown to the foxes nose and the trappers snare, like the moon, watchful, but glaring time keeping. Searching for danger trembling blue. the fox wanders in elation, what can one do but oblige such an invitation.
Soaring above storms. Evading cities fumes, artificial light and from being labelled as weather. Diving deep into a wild cauldron, flying through ancient hollows and hidden moss meadows, stirring the pot. Whistling with birds and bees, shaking spent leaves from birch trees, hide and seek with fairies. Rising out of the chaos, the owl takes flight before end of night, in the clearing a celtic cross, clouds bathing in ambience. A subtle mist rides the wind, whispering voices piece together history before the sun meets the leaves glistening in mystery.
Twinkling chimes, church bells and nursery rhymes, pushing through thick beach forest. Long warm shards piercing the treeline, deep buzzing electric blue shadows, insects floating into illuminated mist, the solar pianist plays the foliage orchestra.
A strange little creature, meek and subtle you might walk into a room and not even see him, covering his nose he pose no threat. If you were a spider rabbit or rat however you’d find yourself in a spot of trouble. If he spies small fleeting creatures, frantic manners and mouse like features. Off he goes, strong and stiff, flesh covered land lightning, fierce and unstoppable. Till he catches a wif of a lady, she weakens his lightning legs, his eyes become deep glazed stary eyed marbles. His nose wet and cold. His soul watching and his ferocity sold.
A sharp cold wind in the valley birds making song and uttering tales of berries and insects to come, in the ears of the young yearling doves. Overlooking the midday mist, she surveys and honks at me with a slight hiss to say, get going boy this valley here is mine, when the sun shines onto this grass my eyes do not lie, find your own land and maybe then will you stand at tall and proud as I. A wise goose she was with much to tell, but were she not honking at passers bye she might have seen the fox slinking sly.
Digging deep into the ground the wind found stories and tails of ages past some steel and burning to be unearthed, some real and squirming. He asked, how do you breath on land you are but a fish, the lamprey replied, wiggle wiggle splash. Off he swam into murky water, only breathing air enough to find his wife and daughter. No time for explanation or consultation just wiggling. The wind wondered and wandered.