The smile of hours
       the fresh fragrance
of ancient woodland
       foxes and squirrels
about their business
       as though the world
did not exist
       or as though theirs
was the only world :
       crows and magpies
looking down
       on sparrows –
and delicate wild flowers
       in the meadows
My boots damp
       from the morning dew
an expectancy in the air
       everything
you name it
       about to happen

John Lyons