... since I posted any poetry here.
This one is new and is, in particular, for M and for S, A, J & P, A & N, who were here with us last year but alas, not this.
Sometimes there are sparrows
chattering in groups, sometimes
woodpigeons coo to their mates,
never too far away from company.
Swallows, or swifts, I’m never sure,
swoop about one after the other
and we have redstarts here,
singing from the trees
severally and together.
And then there is the lark,
flying solo, no need for crowds.
This wide French sky is filled
with his solitary song.
Plunging to earth to begin anew
such melodies that seem to have no repetition,
touching my heart like no other bird.
There is something magic here
encapsulated in this small bird
Above the bustle on the ground
his hymn to freedom
is the anthem of this place
where weary spirits are renewed,
and we are regenerated.