It is May, early morning dew drop scattered May. As we walk together up the green lane to the high hill top we are thinking of cuckoos. The swallows came a while back, the swifts are here too now and on the walls wheatears are dancing. Whitethroats sing in the gorse, skylarks throw down song from on high and everywhere stonechats chip chip. Chiff chaff and wren fill hedges with their sound, but so far we have not heard one cuckoo.
We walk and the dew drops drip and cling to our fur and the scent of the gorse is the thin early morning before the sunshine scent.
Then there, right on the edge of hearing, so faint that it might not even have been, cuckoo. Was it real? Was it an echo of a memory of the call of the cuckoo. But no, again, still faint, cuckoo. Somewhere, away, over the moor, a cuckoo calls.
It is May.
We walk and the dew drops drip and cling to our fur and the scent of the gorse is the thin early morning before the sunshine scent.
Then there, right on the edge of hearing, so faint that it might not even have been, cuckoo. Was it real? Was it an echo of a memory of the call of the cuckoo. But no, again, still faint, cuckoo. Somewhere, away, over the moor, a cuckoo calls.
It is May.
4 comments:
look like tigers prowling the trail for deer :Dt
As they walked out one summer morning...! Lovely to hear the music of the morning too. While the ginger tigers prowl purposely into the dew-dripped morning.
Wild and free, you roam,
Single-file,
Nose to tail,
Sure footed
Following your nose and ears.
I love how they walk along together!
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