By Guest Blogger
Let the fields rest now; commit their names to memory.
Instead, bring on the Longhorns, then the deer,
both Fallow and Red, and let them roam.
Import Tamworths and watch these boar by proxy
imitate the plough. Marvel as they rootle
for earthworms and grubs, snout out docks
and thistles, turn over clods and expose soil
to air before it’s shifted by limpet-mine explosions
of cattle shit. Let bees colonise and anthill complexes
establish their miniature Towers of Babel.
Let green woodpeckers alight and feast. Study
the migration of beetles from edge to centre.
Allow the sallow to emerge and by the summer
purple emperors will be spotted over ditched water.
May all this rootling encourage chickweed, fumitory
and knotgrass to take over. Scarlet pimpernel
and red fescue too — like gatherings from Ophelia’s reason
in madness. Let turtle doves breed and a purring male
appear on cue, from behind white gloves, the final act
in the magician’s set.
Come Christmas Eve repair
to the treehouse set deep in a forest of oak and elm
and out of darkness listen to the smatterings of sleet then snow on twig and leaf. Feel the awe of a child again.
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