Sunday Visiting (Poetry)

First published in Word Craft Issue 12 Summer 1984

The clinging earth sucked hard at heels
and slowed bold strides to comic hops
from hump to grassy tussock:
each breath rasped loud and steamed the air
in bursts of mirth escaping
and, seeming deaf to our approach,
the reservoir’s serene abyss
feigned sleep without a ripple
until one distant silhouette
broke free in consternation.

A solitary heron leapt,
then stretched against the winter grey,
proud-necked and trailing lazy legs,
slow flapped ’till out of sight.
The orphaned waters gathered up
the crumbs of daylight — slivers tossed
from aching, empty skies
and January chilled me through
as evening slinked between the hills
to threaten all with night.