In Marshwood Vale
Standing on Pilsdon Pen
the last twits of nighttime hunters
share the lightening sky
with the strident call of cockerels
who sense rather than see the day
A thick blanket of mist
sits across the low-lying land
A silver veil that muffles the senses
Somewhere a tractor and trailer
cross a rutted field
The load…
a rhythmic banging bass
behind the sweet notes of a wren
the first bird of the morning chorus
A Plover and a Crow add voices
to the waking auditorium
Spectral trees emerge slowly
from the cloying blanket of mist
Languid shanks of cable
span the gaps
in a line of skeletal poles
receding…
to the mist locked valleys below
A pale peach accent to the sky
hints at the possibility of dawn
Distant hilltops
poke like islands
from the waters
of a silent silver estuary
Stubborn mists
cling to the fields and trees
This gradual unveiling
This restoration of colour
to a silvered landscape
Is another extra ordinary day
for Marshwood Vale
– Peter Roe – September 2021
Peter moved to Broadwindsor earlier this year – you can read more about him HERE.
