Dunning Den
Yesterday, by the blackthorn bank,
I stopped under the sparkling boughs.
Frothy white against a pool of sky
and warmed by the nearing sun,
they dizzied me with their musky scent,
loosing me from winter's grip.
Yesterday, under the crumbling crag
I gazed up at the sentinel pine.
A head above his bare companions
with toes clasping the broken rock,
steadfast he rode his stance,
holding the valley in one piece.
Yesterday, through the wild garlic
I stepped down to the riverside.
Riffling over the pebbles
and surging against the rocks,
the water dissolved into sound,
carrying all life in its melody.
Felicity Martin
