Poem in July

The silence of the early morning
And the solitude of dawn comes
With groaning trees, and wind whispers,
Light that is low, shadows long, and highlights bright.

The call of an unseen bird,
The scent of an unseen animal,
Linger in the air with the soft footfall
Of my leather boots, and dog’s steady trot.

Staying close to me, her ears and eyes look for the unseen.
My own mind making up stories of this place once peopled,
Now left to the trees and plants, reclaiming
What has always been theirs – the waiting now over.

Stone walls outline where fields once lay.
Holes collapsed reveal old cellars, foundations.
Nails in trees which might have once held a gate,
Or fence, barely visible, consumed by the trunk slowly, slowly.

Flat land, cleared of rocks now populated
With tall grass, and bright field flowers,
Hiding a rusted fender or engine from the 40’s
Reminders of a garden long gone, and family forgotten.

The silence of these early morning rambles
With my dark canine friend loping beside me.
We investigate together, making up our own stories
Of who was here and who will come after.

Photo by Simon Brooks, © 2016

Copyright (text and image) Simon Brooks, 2016 ©