It is still, now
The winds have exhaled with the tide, and the afternoon.
Here the fields draw in the winter dusk,
drain the westerly plum- juice streaks
greying the pink and yellow
in slow minutes.
It is still.
No chatter or shriek from the magpies
dumb on black poplars’ broom-like branches
or aimlessly flopping over sodden grass
A near silence
wraps the watcher in comfort,
not hearing the air breathing,
nor a leaf slip’s infinitesimal whisper,
is still, too.
About the Author: Sheila graduated from St Anne’s College, Oxford, with a degree in English Language and Literature, and since then worked as a reporter on local weekly and daily newspapers in Lancashire, Lincolnshire and Buckinghamshire. After marriage to another journalist in 1961, Sheila brought up three children and continued to write as a freelance, and became involved in community organisations in Wirral, and voluntary work with special needs young people. She has always loved theatre, music and art, but it is her observation and fascination with her natural surroundings, including the wildlife of the coast, that has inspired most of her poetry.
More by Sheila Saunders:
Image Credit: Image from, The birds of Australia. London, Printed by R. and J. E. Taylor; pub. by the author,-48. Image courtesy of The Biodiversity Heritage Library (Public Domain)