November 2018

The nocturnal downpour…

An expanse of rain
floods the corners of the night,
giving darkness sound.



The hungry hills exposed by Winter…

Winter-burnished hill.
Ribs showing through the heather.
Rush-bearded farrows.



Watching crows – again…

Black castanet rush,
clack-clacking conversations.
A clique of corvids.



Working on a wood engraving of a stone wall…

“Cry stanza, my stone” *
Excavating stone sinews.
Each stone an island.

*Wallace Stevens



November wind blowing golden leaves off birch trees…

Bright flurry of leaves,
a golden murmuration,
And rooks gathering.