Morning mist muffles the countryside
under a shroud, cold and grey.
There is stillness far and wide -
quite eerie so early in the day.
The normally chatty birds
are subdued and hushed,
as are the grazing herds
pulling at grass unrushed.
A startled blackbird’s alarm call,
a momentary disturbance
of a scene typically autumnal -
all dampness and silence.
Dark leafless hedgerows adorned
with white veils of gossamer
so beautifully transformed
by droplets of moisture.
Spiralling through on cord-like stems,
the bright berries of bryony
seem as precious as gems
in a landscape so dull and misty.
The silence is deafening.
Something seems wrong here.
Nature is waiting,
expectant, for the skies to clear.
And so they do, all of a sudden,
as the sun burns through,
not bit by bit as you’d imagine,
but apparently in one go.
Dazzling blue sky ablaze
as wisps of vapour swirl away.
The last trace of the earlier haze
leaving behind a glorious day.
And as colour appears once more,
so too does sound:
birdsong galore,
a cacophony all around.
Colour where there was greyness,
noise where there was silence,
warmth where there was coldness -
and all under autumn’s influence.
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