Wind Runner - Trudie Shannon

Skylark after skylark rising above the fields
Making use of the eternal updraft
As earth attempts unity with the heavens.
I lust for adjectives, much as a sailor
At sea for months, lusts after a woman’s company.
I desire evocative imagery, sensual interpretation,
Sensitive pursuit.
I stand beside the hedgerow and gaze upward
Toward the blue on blue ballroom above my head.
The small speck, as dust in my eye,
Dances with the invisible breeze,
Welcomes small eddies beneath each tiny fibril
On each tiny feather, on each wonderful wing.
Rises exuding ecstasy out into the ether,
Couples with cloud wisps whispering,
Rises to its zenith, heart song singing,
Then falls earthward as if thrown from the heavens like Hephaestus,
Falls, dropping heart notes on the way.
I stand beside the hedgerow and follow,
My eyes feasting on the journey.
The skylark drifts the final metres,
The rhythm of its voice matching the wind
Coiled in the welcoming grass.

The skylark is a small brown bird.

Trudie Shannon