Whit Sunday…

The Crows have gone as suddenly as they came.
Now Magpie’s dip and swoop, green red-beak Parrots flit by. Overhead Seagulls glide across the cloud streaked sky
and a Blue Heron, long legs tucked under its body long beak pointed towards the east.
The Blackbird sings an afternoon song on the rooftop and then its gone. In the distance ‘jack-daw jack-daw’.
Tiny little birds dart swiftly in and out of the weeping willow and magnolia.
A mother sings to the black haired baby cradled in her arms.
The neighbours down below chatter as they go out for the day
and the children laugh and shriek as they play their games
and life goes on.
In October a crashing pane of glass the jagged shards stored away in the shed.
In June a drinking glass slips from my fingers.
Black shadow of my head and hand on the white fence entwined with dancing grey shadow plants.
My black fingers try to grab the swaying silver stems but its impossible to catch them.
A big black Crow just flew onto the roof again but another Crow caws in the distance and on big black flapping wings the Crow flies away. Caw caw caw…
The Blackbird is back, somewhere, whistling a late afternoon song.

Then tonight as the silver moon suddenly appeared, its pink halo glowing in the kingfisher blue, the Stork returned, preening its ruffled black and fluffy white feathers with pointy beak, perched on one skinny fragile leg on top of the crane.

One thought on “Whit Sunday…”

  1. Some friends send emails instead of posting a reaction on our weblog but this email from Lucille I’d like to place here!:
    Hi Lin, I enjoyed your poem as well as the drawing! You could do a children’s book about the views/ daily life where you live. Lucille x

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