Mournful wind song shudders the old aerials.
Solid thud of shotgun sounds from the banks of the swollen river, under a plain sky coloured like thick ice.
Any leaf that has not fallen shivers in the moan of the wind.
Birds' song carries a restless note.
Beauty strikes starkly.
Beyond the river, a faint view of moorlands, where any creature can live and die and never be known.
Bones are weathered, lay stoic in clumps of enduring grass.
And with this posting, I can see a reflection of those who have lived and died, never really being known.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Lily.
I'd like to think it is someone's job to note the living and passing of every creature.
ReplyDeleteI love how you make the cold and dormant details of winter riparian into a living organism, huge and whole. My compliments.
ReplyDeleteI love this...you gave life to this unknown being...beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMuch response to the creatures who live without note: hence the following post! (That + snow)
ReplyDeleteThank you all for your thoughtful provocations :-)
Oh I am loving your words :). B
ReplyDeleteThank you Buttons- your descriptions of farm life are rather life affirming :-)
ReplyDelete