By Karen Tucker
The wind’s from the north in the meadow today,
It’s kept the young kids and day trippers away.
But I’m out getting muddy and watching the rooks,
And standing on bridges by babbling brooks.
A kingfisher sits motionless in a tree;
It’s his orange waistcoat that shows him to me.
And then, oh he’s off, in a flash of blue wings,
Skimming the surface and looking for fins.
A grey wagtail wanders the shallows alone,
Dipping his beak, then he flies away home.
A bright streak of yellow, then gone from my sight.
Will I see him again? Well, I guess I just might!
Pussy willow buds forming attract my attention,
And willows leaves budding are just worth a mention.
The wind-fallen branches that litter my path
Bear eloquent witness to past winter blasts.
I’m walking a route that in summer will be
A tangle of rushes, not easy to see.
So I’m taking advantage of light vegetation
Pursuing my rambling perambulation.
The joggers and dog walkers pass at my back,
They follow the pavements while I walk the track.
A low-flying chopper the seagulls disturbs –
An unwelcome reminder I’m in the suburbs!
I reach down and pick up a souvenir feather.
My nose runs – it’s not keen on cold, windy weather.
But just as I pull out my hanky to blow it,
The wind takes my feather away – don’t you know it!
A black and white magpie treads on the air,
Then lands on a tree branch, thus forming a pair.
One is for sorrow, two joy, so they say –
Well, I’m having a good time so far today.
The wind is so strong and the air is so cold,
It’s bad news for you if you’re ill or you’re old
But dogs will still swim and birds will still fly,
They won’t catch their death here, and neither will I.
The sailing club’s having a ball on the lake.
They’re whizzing along and they’re raising a wake.
Though this wind is not quite to everyone’s liking,
It’s making their little craft move like greased lightning.