We change seasons with this delightful poem from Peter Roebuck which describes the beginning of a perfect summer’s day.
The air is vibrant with the power of verdant growth,
and yet an easy tranquility pervades the valley.
A gentle mist swirling o’er the water makes
Trembling shadows of the bobbing moorhen.
The soft cooing of doves, as yet unseen in the
Towering foliage proclaims another summer morn.
A heron, wings no more than resting on the buoyant air,
Glides down to stand, like some sculpted sentry, atop a sandy mound.
(Beware you piscine wanderers, those all-seeing eyes,
But more the lightning spear betwixt)
When master sol, arising warm and bright, smiles on the placid scene,
The mist, as though in fear of capture, vanishes.
The view is now of swallows swooping and wheeling,
Open-billed to breakfast on a feast of flies.
On the water below, a family of coots paddle on about their business,
Unconcerned by these aerial contortions.
To finally disappear between the blades of flag and bullrushes
To attend to other cootish matters.
Above the yellow blooms dart dragonflies; electric-blue invaders
From another world, one moment here and gone the next.
And so another summer’s day begins.