The hazel and hawthorn trees dapple the foxglove and campion.
The bracken breaks through like a bishop’s crook,
the brambles arch and the nettles gather.
They hold silence like a living quality of air,
broken by birdsong and bees’ hum
and the river stroking the stones in the hollow.
There is a magic quality to wild places that restores the soul.

My garden was so lovely
this morning
but I couldn’t linger.
I returned to it
just now
after a shower of rain,
walking the grass
in bare feet,
saying hello
to the new flowers
while leaning
into the wet leaves.
I came back to the house
with a leaf between my toes
and a freshness in my heart.