January 4



Old growth wood, tanglewood, damp and dank.
The Jays hurtled by on primordial pinions
leaving a wake of reptilian rememberings
that slowly settle into the monotony of Great Tit,
threading the memory into the fabric of the land.

Walkers stalled in thrall, Jackdaws japed no more.
Azure flashes of distilled summer sky,
afterburn on seared retinas. Harsh Jurassic
shrieks cast chaos spells through thorny thicket.
White rumped revellers flash beyond naked trees.

Mundane chatter resumes, now tinged with wildness,
subsuming the distant M6 buzz of motorway maudlers.
A gnarly touch of the old birds reclaims the Crag,
bringing home the long gone dreams of past
clans, those who could read the song lines.

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