the days are lengthening
the light softly grows the sky
stretching out its hand embraces us

bog cotton brushes the wind
the same wind that blows the smell of gorse
across pink orchids in the ditch

cuckoo sound envelops us elusive and unseen
a vole darts ahead feverishly keen to avoid
the buzzard’s acquaintance

there is snow at the top of that far off mountain
here the ground is wet soft under foot
from last night’s rain

we tread carefully so as not to sink
so as not to disturb this life
that surrounds us