Through an avenue, a thin-branched canopy
in mid-March sun, I sense a tear
at a momentary view through the branches
of sudden light on a brown red kite
and a turning twin-prop glinting white.
The canopy ahead, branches entwined,
seems a welcome through the countryside
around horses, bikes and fresh-seeded fields
to distances of mid-green and lime.
Almost wanting to suspend this moment,
we know mourning begins to riddle
threads of life which thrive in their prime.
Better to be here in arboreal winter
than sense an end of summer not yet arrived.
Tag: Red kites
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White Waltham
Wilderspool Causeway 