In or Out? – Window of Opportunity

Window of opportunity- staked and ready is the land
Save for harshness and ferocious storms
Burgeoning growth and every space inside  
Is filled;
Potential screams from frame and sill
For that window of opportunity to present;
And so the question phrased is
In or out? 
We try a voice of reason:
Month of May,
When riotous colour floods the bank
And nature itself cannot be held
But in my hands 
Precarious has it fallen;
One move and all is lost,
Returned to  soil
Only to start again,
Amidst ethereal voices born on the winds:
Times are changing.

Childhood in the Suburbs

I lived my childhood 
As an adventurer and in imagination - always outside- always on the edge;  
Cowboys and Indians 
Bows and arrows shot  between the red leaves of the old plum tree
Into the street;
Legends of Tarzan played out in daring crossings over fallen trees and the tiny stream in the park 
With its lonely woodland which was considered dangerous by some adults; 
But as children we stuck together - always in a small gang,
Out all day except for lunch;
We knew the route; we made paths through tall bluebells between  
Corrugated iron; 
We found nests  and wondered as we turned the blue ovals in the moss
We swung from a rope tied high in the trees chasing the dust mottes and dappled sunlight through the leaves;
We made dens and decorated them; 
I learnt the names of all the woodland flowers-made notes;
I made a museum and 
Collected natural and  geological Treasures and discarded rubbish;
Fascinated by the history of the place and its ancient route- I noted everything; 
We found  pottery and ancient walls;
We found hideouts;
We were spies writing codes
And using ciphers;
We found a gun;
And - an older man
With a mac-
Spied us.
And we ran home.
The police were informed. 
We were banned from the woods
So we kicked dirt in the car park 
And played football till dark.

Hare 3

Strident in centre field,
Startled a long run it makes 
Limbs long and lean
Across the evening field it sprints, A back-lit golden dart;
Partially shielded above the 
The boundary ditch
To watch and listen,
Then in another direction,  
Over splash of green
Apollo’s  arrow spears the sun.

To Look Up

Under the mighty thundercloud warm air is  drawn 
Yet the wind whips simultaneously From the rising wall of slate 
Steep and anviled, ominous is  the beast 
And precise as the shutter closed,
A grinding rumble from the depths of the grey was sounded
Like a giant awakening;
And so drawn am I to
Beauty seen in the striking skies;
Shielding ugliness at what is left behind 
Biblical in scene 
Of flood or gale 
When the giant takes its leave.
Day after day
Storm after storm 
To look up we glimpse heaven’s  beauty manifest  
Preferable to downward cast.

Gardening through Climate Change

So will I show you the Spring: 
With the warmth of the sun
Calendar prediction
Fast growth of green shoots 
Spearing the soil
Arrow flight to the light.

So will I show you:
Protected with wool 
Cloched and tressed up
Planted
To beat onslaught-
A gruelling antidote to 
A month of drought
Monsoon in proportion; 
Leaching of
Mulched beds 
To the bottom of the hill
A stream of minerals 
A hand given from river to sea.
Stripped is the soil
The fangs of the wind to evil intent
Inexorable to growth
Whipped to submission.

So will I explain the gardener in me : 
DNA defined                    Through generations wired; 
Of country estate to
Allotment plot
Stories of bounty 
Or thriving on nothing;
Plantswomen
Not educated but practised  
Endless summers of sun 
And snows in winter.

Now qualifications are mine and technology too 
Yet the weather unfathomable 
To the elements 
I claw at a loss.