Two words for rain unveiled a season in rural life.
Juno revealed she was married, where was her ring?
On a blashy day, she showed her face, hid froth
Collected from runny streams in summer showers.
Month by month another piece was exposed.
Some parts left obscured by the sun,
Others turned back into their own shadow.
I would love to be the girl she has become.
He had never seen a sparrowhawk this close. Three metres at most, as he camouflaged himself behind Aloe Vera’s across his window. Blue silvered wings shrouded her prey. Powerful limbs and speckled chest absorbed dawn sunlight.
Peck by peck she dismantled. A carpet of young pigeon feathers laid to confirm her regal status. His slight twitch alerted her. Sparrowhawk and carcass gone. Upstairs, his 6 a.m. alarm, a lament for a grieving mother, floated through the Mede.