After the rain.

A curtain falls

across the secrets

of the ghyll,

the pond whispers,

trees tap, rocks -

the very earth

turns darker still

and sense is flooded

with despair. 


And after the rain,   

a drowsy peace,    

the melancholy air

warms, thickens,

grows darker, greener.

Buds burst,

leaves stretch,

reach out

to fill the gaps.  


Close your eyes,

rest, listen, feel  

how soft lamentations

of blackbirds

heal the wound,

and when resonance

reminiscence yields,

anguish fades,

loss is less,


and hope flickers,

takes wing,

wagtails dance

and gleeful swallows

sweep the air,  

while the cob glides

the darker water

and the pen lies sleeping

on her raft.