First spring winds embraced
bare legs,
refreshed by the delicate touch
of virgin grass after the shower.

A distant echo
of a cuckoos call
desperate to lay her mottled egg
and fly before the season turned.

Land opened up before the eye
in a symphony spread down to sea,
its history pulsed, undiscovered
beneath slow stone circles
abandoned at solstice
by glaring conformists.

This judgement in contentment –
a bottle neck
from the caffles of fireweed
torn on the journey.

Before the grace of gods
stands only hope,
and the only escape
is to travel onwards.



3 responses to “Beltane

  1. I feel at home here…thank you … can’t do the circumflex so is it ok to write your name as Sian until I find the correct keys?

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