plenty of sun this morning
cajoling us into taking a walk
but it’s scarves and hats
~
lake, village, lake and back
warm in the open places
but the light wind has
a cruel tongue on it
when passing under shade
making our step quicken
~
the heron has fished early
and is nowhere to be seen
anglers neither
~
on the village green
the violet crocuses are out
the miniature daffs late,
sheepishly poking through
~
it’s a lovely old graveyard
we always pause here between
the stone pillars in the gateway
notionally picking our spot
worse places to finish up
~
three quarters round, and
dogwalkers are beating joggers
four to three
~
the fruits of Eunice’s shenanigans
still litter the bankside
several big fellers toppled
and diced up by the rangers
~
nearly home, an hour out
my furosemide spironolactone
breakfast is beginning to work
and my ears are zinging.
*
© Graham R Sherwood 03/2022
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 