Immensity swept in the
rustling levels of beeches,
Flowing with shadowy patterns
into the dusk,
As the upper air ran chill
and the heavens drifted,
With filament wisps and
shreds to the western blaze.
The whispered time was rife
with the minute twitters,
Of turning bats and the
suspect nudges of wind,
Down the hedgehog paths as I
came again to the village,
With the visiting owl to the
branches just about night.
Alasdair Aston
© 2003 Suffolk Naturalists' Society