Ascension

Written 16 June 2013

Here's a sticky, muddy river flowing through an early Summer's day,

where vegetation politely crowds at the banks,

and the breeze is so subtle you can only smell it.

There are blue moth-flies with wings striped black and translucent,

blue-tits flickering between branches,

and dragonflies flashing through the nettles.

The lively, heady smell is of nature in balance,

and you can taste occasional rain, just the right amount to refresh a wanderer.

A stream clatters down nearby.

Cloud, blue sky and shifting sunlight harmonise

to epitomise Spring becoming an English Summer;

and somewhere, in the distance, there's even a cricket match.

 

I have had picnics here,

seen kingfishers here,

been annoyed when my spot has been taken.

I have sat here and then rushed off, restless,

sat here and not thought of much.

I'll bring a date here.

And today, I feel calmly and correctly placed on my timeline,

sad and happy,

I feel I am myself.

I am at peace here.

It's perfect.

 

As I make to leave, the horizon is suddenly a vivid blue,

brighter than the clouds,

and in hindsight, I think: ascension.