Exulting in the high miles of sun
Stacked above the dunes, upward, upward
“All aboard, all aboard”, it twitters,
While, on the sea, the bright sun glitters,
Plunge, swash, backwash, of its longshore drift:
Even the wind turbines
On the horizon haze-line
Have an improbable Mediterranean feel
Like painted scenery against the sky
In a Venetian opera.
Finished for now, song-exhausted
It flutters back to ground
Somewhere among the waving grass
Ruffled by the wind like a green sea,
Alongside the blue sea,
Where the whoosh of the wind
beats the myriad seed heads to a shimmer of silver,
Or momentary flash of burnished brass.
It drops to the cool embrace of earth;
Somewhere among the scrubland, in the sand
In the cool green gloom of gorse and grundsel
Lies its fragile offering, a plaited plate of grass
Containing precious eggs, dull speckled jewels,
Or polished cloudy pebbles, each encasing next summer’s song
Of sun, within the yellow essence of their yolks.
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