the ripe cherries

in the topmost branches

the worn-out brush in my hand

the first cherry

drops from the tree

- twenty years

the ancient woodlands

the first cuckoo

- a distant echo

A spider runs

over my hand and up my arm -

I have to laugh

magnolia

there's one in our street

not yet lit
.

the first song

of the first blackbird

- the star in the tree

the many snowdrops

shake their heads

- too cool for the bees

still and silent
the deep brown woods
and the two red squirrels

lying crushed
only twenty steps from the trash can -
the golden cigarette packet

sprigs of mimosa
dressed-up in see-through plastic
silver foil and ribbons

unfolded papers

- longer days will draw me

into the hills