April Morning

Fields lit 
through curtains of gossamer mist
hold a secret at each turn.
Glowing air, moist 
yet sharpened still by the cool of night,
passes through bare branches
inter-weaved shadows in a duo-tone of gold and brown. 
The Skylark’s are up 
sending their rolling ribble
out across the valley.
Chiff-chaff, Great tit,
Blackbird and Thrush 
and myriads more
joining the enticing symphony of spring.
 
Instead of getting in the car
I want to turn and walk
out into the enveloping fog
cold on my cheeks
dew soaking into turned up trouser bottoms
and melt into the morning
of another timeless world.

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