Uncategorized

pleasure tour of duty

Tonight
instead of guiding the Nog across the road into the enclosed woodland
where he can run safely on the way up to Sarah Justina’s monument,
I take a tour of my small farm.
This is for the amenity – sheer pleasure of grass and flower and tree-
and secretive wildlife:
also I reconnoitre targets in
THE WAR OF THE WEEDS-
long slender dockan stems surmounted by great bottlebrush seed heads,
thistles growing limbs with flowerheads like Hydra,
newly reinforced with subtle ragwort
preparing a second front
and there is something else that crosses between
appreciation and function.
I remind myself here
– a sense of the place-
what is now and what is latent.

I stand for a long time watching the calves, teasing out their qualities, their potential;
in the weaning paddock  aspen suckers set leaf among the thistles:
perhaps this year I should not top them
but fence off and weed by hand to allow the new woodland.
The Nog is pointing- steady while I approach, lean forward to identify the quivering black lining to a hare’s limpid eye.
When she breaks he follows briefly but is checked by a tap of my stick.
The long tail of a hen pheasant projects from a dockan clump
a pace further on
motionless within my reach and the dog’s predatory interrogation.
It can only mean she is sheltering eggs or chicks-
foolish oriental import, shotgun fodder,
lion-hearted mother.
I call the Nog,
thankfully negligent of her presence
on to the next pasture
and other prospects.

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s