The scent of moss and rain

The sound of the waterfall follows me to the edge of the woods. A sudden clatter and whirring of wings stops me short. Then that familiar rattling, clicking call of a Jay, the bright flash of blue as it passes, matching the colour of this morning sky. 

in the woods
the scent 
of moss and rain

The trail is dotted with puddles shimmering in the sunlight and everything sparkles, startling with splashes of brilliance and beauty. The wind across these hills is cold and the trees are bare, but I can still feel the hum of spring deep in my blood, in the outbreak of birdsong all around me.

tiny wren…
a sunlit river flowing 
through its song

When I emerge again, something glitters from the sleepy town far below me. The distant hills are covered in heather and haze. I feel light splashed, renewed, washed clean. 

snowdrop carpet
along the woodland floor…
February wind

My photos – Snowdrop Valley, Wheddon Cross

Year of the Wood Dragon

My photo – Taunton, Somerset

Nobody saw the signs
although they heard the music 
as they crowded under neon lights. 

No-one knew what to make 
of such an eerie song
and they didn't see the figure
dance among them 
quietly like smoke, a ghost
emerging from its bark -

pure air and water,
wood and fire,

and the daybreak 
a yawning child
offering something akin to hope.

Poem’s Kiss

Photo by Ali Hassan on Pexels.com

A word from a dream
and then a poem
composed in the shower's music,
shaped the same way
a lover's mouth may shape
the lips it touches,

and the water 
      a tumbling
           cleansing
                warmth,
                   tasting 

as sweet as a lover's kiss,
sweeter than the rain.

Through the window
the light curves around curtains 
open like a wing,
and in the ink drying
later on the page
a new love insists
on its release into the day
like a new-born thing.

Imbolc

Photo by Helena Jankoviu010dovu00e1 Kovu00e1u010dovu00e1 on Pexels.com

How to explain
this quality of light?
Even the geese speak of it
as they sound across the lake;
even the waterfall
as it thrums at the river’s mouth;
even the snowdrops as they burst
from darkness like tiny bells – so hard
to turn this music into words,
this joining of earth and sky,
this I with Thou.