A gang of indigo clouds
across the flamingo-pink skies this morning
distracting everyone’s gaze
it takes a while for the greyness of conformity to rush in
and chase the hope of daybreak away
in the mire, we stand
sinking in acceptance of the now
wishing, we were those indigo clouds
moving on from normality.
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We sat under a steady autumn sky watching the tiny acts of rebellion as young clouds broke away from old grey from white, white from grey and the sun threw firecrackers at the surface of the sea silent, straw-gold crackling amid the calm we stole glances from each other as the tender harbour breeze kisses our cheeks turning us blush-pink the terns and gulls played tag swooping too close to earth that the seagrass stole some feathers and – as nature misbehaved all around us I softly gripped your hand knowing you’d never let me go because I was falling in love with you even more and this falling will go on forever like the marble-blue horizon
– under the steady autumn sky.
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I felt it was an insult that each new street was named after a different species of tree they chopped down a lasting dedication to rapid decimation of the ancient woodland and hedgerow their deaths were dealt so swiftly that the hawthorn berries didn’t even get time to bleed.
Now when I walk past Oak Avenue, Ash Drive & Beech Terrace each brimming with life I think of the bricks, mortar and glass I believe the woodland remains just in a different guise and the dedication isn’t an insult but a celebration of what came before that the trees that once thrived there are a solid foundation for new roots to form.
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Taking a carefree stroll through an inviting burrow of oak, ash, cedar, elm and yew I allow myself to talk to the trees and travel through time the history stored in trunks and roots is phenomenal whispered secrets shared by the world filtered through canopies of bronze, emeralds and golds could fill all the libraries in all the world woodland sentinels silently observing passers-by witnessing the same litany of mistakes made by multiple generations the main one being that your present is already your past and the future is now.
This is something I’ve learned by talking to trees while travelling through time.
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this poem, inspired by wandering in the woods and listening. I’d love to know your thoughts.