Great crested grebes courting
Song thrush singing
Otters from the bridge
Starlings at street gate
photograph and poem Rose Cook
During and after my mother’s death
I left plenty of space for grieving
or so I thought.
It seems to need so much
perhaps, after all, I will need a new life.
All this brokenness and sitting still.
The cherry has been pink since December.
It blooms from dry branches,
never lets go.
poem and photograph Rose Cook
February steps in cool,
clear light glances through doorways.
She leans on the threshold,
her eyes spark bright.
She brings green shoots,
the promise of fresh sillion in fields.
We still hear winter’s song, but draw
close to the fire with a smile.
Brigid is come with her blessing,
the earth breathes.