Talking heads

Bright yellow heads of hawkweed sway gently across my lawn,

like balanced plates on their serried stems.

They dip in turn, as insects visit, to spin them up again.

Heathen summer walk

The recent sprinkling of rain, breaking a month of drought, has loosed the expected flush of flowers. On my lawn, short stemmed grass has already seeded, attracting goldfinches that flash and flit amongst tall stems of hawkweed.

Across the neolithic landscape on the village’s Southern side, small channels hold water again and the sward has returned, lush. Clover and bird’s foot trefoil are dominant at ground level, with bell heather in all the shades of sugared almond. The heather is dotted with basking and sparring silver-studded blues and close to one of the more permanent pools, a dragonfly lanced by me, too fast to leave any more than an impression of purpose. The harsh call of stone chats rises from gorse heads and from the marshes, the slightly mad warbling of lapwings. Above all, when all else is quiet, invisible skylarks sing from out of the blue.

In the lanes, hedged by blooming bramble, clouds of meadow browns were disturbed by my passing.

Under the shading woods, buzzing insects threatened, triggering false alarms from stretched spider strands; I waved my arms to discourage feeding. In sunny patches, spotted woods patrolled.

Summer; barely pausing for low pressure

Older foals begin to gambol.

Poached and pock’ed water meadow, commonly too wet to traverse, has dried.

Passerines comb my shasta daisies for spiders and the first meadow brown visits, seeking nectar.

My potato patch looks like yesterday’s plated salad leaves (but green shoots show).

The ‘lawn’ is too rich in flower and bug to groom now, it buzzes with bees and flaps with finches.

Yellow hawkweed nods tall and proud, with buttercup competition. Speedwell and plantain, clover and shaded bugloss shake amongst the seeding stems of grasses.