(a robin sings)
pale roar of pine wing
low drifting gulls negotiating troubled air
base notes of sea thrashing Portland Stone
Sandsfoot Clay sea
Ilex crackling in a storm so strong it earns itself a name.
Then, whilst walking into Fear’s very eye,
I hear sharp splinters of robin song
bright cascades of sound - seemingly at odds with my masked world
a tiny red breast throws out a tune so clear I hear it midst all the racket
His bird eye glimpses spring right inside this storm
he knows a season different to the one I struggle through
and sings of sun and nests
of tiny edible things
The solid wind beats me up and seeps inside my hat
hurried waves run in and run out of steam
a Jackdaw stutters alarm into the rain ...
I’m glad there is more
than just Covid going on.