Walk With Me

February

Walk with me where new hedges have been laid, where the daffodils are buffeted by February weather and hazel catkins are strewn at my feet
Walk with me where a cold wind roars in the trees
Old friends who cannot hold themselves up anymore are hewn to the heartwood, the way they saw that elders hewn, the way they never thought they would be. And so they now they lie as piles of discarded bodies
Their telegraph pole cousins watch on, strung out
I walk through metres of puddles and dance with the clouds as they scatter across the sky running from the wind
Wind whipped I turn my face to the sun

This is the month of the storm moon

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