Awakening in Devon
by Annie Jenkin

A vast valley lay before me
filled by meadows, ploughed fields,
squares of bright yellow rapeseed
and green hedge borders.

Caught by the wind, shhh, shhh
say soft, flowing grain stalks,
their waves of light reflections
shimmer like crushed silk.

In the woods below, old trees
squeal, creak and groan
in protest, bound by thick ropes
of unrelenting ivy climbing up.

An aged sycamore has toppled,
its roots wrenched from an earthy bed.
Except for one. Precious life emerges
along the old trunk, shooting skyward.

The tide has left the river bed exposed
leaving a meandering stream to wander
idly through. Egrets wade, heads poised
their long beaks dart in to capture a minnow.

Broad white wings unfurl, flapping, ungainly
in taking off, but once in the air they soar,
circling above the reedbeds and trees
landing upstream, they wade, heads poised.

I reflect upon their journey
and of what I have seen,
how life moves around in circles
repeating, renewing and living.
 

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