Frost pockets in the shadows,
shear light, transparent in its gauzy vestments,
dropping the veil as the sun’s strength grows.
and eaten on formica tables under the orange domes of light.
Fighting my way up hill in the crisp morning.
Putting up a woodcock which bumbles off sleepily into the trees.
Little owl yowling on the marsh below.
One lone primrose backlit by morning sun.
Up through the woods to eat breakfast,
To hear the morning chatter of 4000 crows, woodpeckers laughing, the rasping grunt and pop and crack of herons at the nest.
And that’s it.
And that’s all I’ve come for
breakfast amongst the trees in the company of herons,