A soft morning with the hills rising in round blue folds
A cool morning with the mist resting in opaque white drifts
A still morning with each twig and blade balancing spherical beads of dew
A slow morning with the cars moving along the valley floor in a quiet muffled hum
and two robins warbling in bright fluted streams from the top branch of the ash tree.
When the sun comes the mist doesn’t lift but lights up.
The robin songs strengthen, the traffic buzzes a little louder.
The day itself begins to hum, to thrum, to vibrate on unseen strings;
a deft weft, a swift pluck,
a strum, even,
scattering the dewbeads,
shifting the mist,
palpating our flighty red breasts.
Cwm Garw, Glamorgan, South Wales
12th December 2016