Red - Brown Wings

Master of the winds

With red-brown wingspan grand

And keen eye fixed on field and furrow

Iconic figure of the wild and far reaching land

The Kite soars above mountain and plain

With careless abandon he makes a tour of the horizon

For a moment he is down among the hedgerows

Then, at a glance, rises aloft again.

Down here, at the foot of the hills

On the tawny heath

Amidst scrubby heather and the long grasses

A smaller creature is picked out in minute detail

Also with red-brown wings

The meadow butterfly

Tiny and tossed by the breeze

But no less a pilot

Navigating her carefree way across the scudded moor

Playfully she dances along the travelers' track 

And vainly keeps up her silent score.

In amongst the trees now,

Ancient Oak and spreading Beech

Under shafts of gold and early summer's vibrant green

A woodland stream

Makes its way downhill

Bubbling between the fern-banks like a cheerful child

There upon a mossy branch

Sits the Chaffinch, in his red-brown coat

Not in a hurry but at a glance

Takes in the peaceful scene

From his well-visited vantage post.

I may not reach the lofty height

Home of the majestic Kite

Wheeling in the empty sky

Nor am I a butterfly.

But I would chose the peaceful glade

A realm of quietness and shade

The refuge of the common bird

Where his still small voice can yet be heard.

Joe Morriss

June 2008