The wood is an echo-chamber for the woodpecker’s knocking

as it is for the down-a-well timbre of the cuckoo.

The day goes from mist to heat.

 

Dog and buzzard fail to spot the baby rabbit

hop to its elder behind the daffodils.

The day goes from heat to cloud.

 

Tiny birds note an errant strand of cypress

and alighting swing it further from the meridian.

The day goes from cloud to haze.

 

A spray of blossom like surf decks the youngest trees

but the upper tips too of some older ones flush sage-green.

The day goes from haze to heat.

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