Shafts of light filter through open trees
Dainty beads of colour
Of dew-spangled jewels
Thread through the bank,
Winding a tapestry;
Silence is
Held on the breath of the wind
Until murmurs and shuffles
In the henhouse are heard
And the spell is broken
By a sharp blackbird call.
Out early with whippet puppy – there are advantages – feeling blessed.
My Devon Life 