Fallow fields sink into fog
and the outline of the hills vanishes
under dense, white shadow.
A pheasant as blue as peace
heads heavenwards with a clack and rattle:
he does not know what to say to me.
Underfoot, arching arms of brambles
reach to restrain and slow each step away:
as if they can halt the inevitable.
Fleeing rain-ghosts cross the footpath
as I walk where you will not walk,
yet your footsteps echo behind me.
Blackened by rain, the bare oak
waits alone on the forest’s edge;
in its stillness, it offers a gift.
Through mist I see raindrops
hanging like glass baubles from the oak’s branches,
bright in the darkening white,
I wish I could share the present–
but it is as fleeting as the wind
that bursts the raindrops into rivers, flowers, clouds.
Somewhere you remain lost,
those bright ovals unknown,
undesired, perhaps, in your chattering world.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 5.
Julie Didcock-Williams has had poetry published by Wildfire-Words and had haiku published in Blithe Spirit and translated and included in an anthology by Goldsmiths College, University of London and Yamanashi Prefectural University of Japan. Her first novel, The Cove, was published in 2020.
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