(River Crouch – Creeksea Essex.)
I thought they were house martins :
fluttering along the tide line –
dancing their hornpipes.
But no – they were sandpipers :
between here and there –
the far north and the far south.
Migrants in my beautiful
sharing my August morning –
my summer reverie.
Would I migrate if I could ?
For now I will share my treasure :
my golden fields,
the silver – shimmering tide.
They zig-zag far up river
at a whim
and I am left
– like all who live in time –
with absences and madrigals of light.