Monday, 4 April 2016


28th October 2015


Have you noticed how the colour of the morning is yellow

Now that the days are shorter and the sun hangs low in the sky?

I mention this because it is Wednesday, and my birthday. If you have

Become sixty-five, or passed it, you too, will know, that

It is necessary to savour days like this one: hold it,

Not too tightly, and dare enough to venture out alone in

Solitude. There's a commodity not of this century, and conjoined with

Silence, a fitting present. I walk across the ploughed

Field peeping winter wheat, thick with Midland mud.

I rattle through the gate causing hopeful horses to canter up, whiffling for an apple..

I am for the woods. The yellow-light is amber here, and what space there is,

Is tunnelled by low-hanging boughs.

This is a day to remember all my golden days,

And anoint their beauty with an outpouring of thankfulness.


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