The post holds us,
supporting a much-needed breather,
adjustment of senses.
Purposely planted gunneras
and bushy figs
surround the area;
giants giving shade to the nearby pond,
yet not quite stretching
to our increasingly warm necks.
A moment of meditation
with the flora’s soft sways,
blocking out chatter and unwanted closeness
of curious, clustered bodies
browsing stalls and workshop windows.
You spot it first, inches from your elbow –
luck that it was spared from our thoughtless lean.
Blending with the woodgrain,
a static figure an inch long,
grey forewings slashed
with dagger-like markings,
and, more prominent
than some of its fellows might display,
a whitish orb on each side:
moonstone pommels for its black blades.
The discovery of our quiet companion
rejuvenates some percentage
of our lost energy.
Moving on, smiles light yet true,
we leave it
to continue its camouflage practice.
This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!
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