Monday, 2 September 2013

Broad Earth


The field by the river is cut, the cuttings baled, the bales lifted out. It seems quiet without the ripe crop whispering. The water lightly prattles. Surprised ducks make intermittent noises of extreme indignation. Dog appears on each occasion, feigns ignorance. She is slick with river mud: a coincidence, of course. Ripe fruits plop into my wide bag: bobbles of blackberry, early rosy hips, beads of elderberry, firmly purple sloes. At the far corner we turn up from the water. Dog runs over the broad earth: runs and runs for no seeming reason but the love of it.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here: