The Glory of the April Woodlands

The Write Night last Wednesday evening was fairly painful to me. Just the waiting really. My husband Steve had come along with me to make sure that I didn't chicken out as I did on the first evening I went last summer. Having waited to read my couple of poems from the start at 7.30pm until after the interval and nearly to the close of the evening, I was in a bad way, since I am an Olympic class fidget. Sitting waiting was sheer torture for me. But anyway my turn eventually came and I did get up and read the two poems that had got the best response from my friends on Face Book. They were All Hail The Stones and When I am Prime Minister. There was a ripple of applause, no tomatoes were thrown and my first moment reading aloud in public was over. Gladly. I am an early to bed and early to rise person and have always been. Steve and I do most of our triathlon training first thing in the morning after the alarm goes off at 5.30am. It was 10.15pm when my name was called to 'Share' as they call it at these functions. I was put off by the lateness and would have to be booked in for the first part of the evening for any future visit. When I first said that to a friend in the swimming pool changing room a couple of days later she told me that it would not be fair to leave once I had 'Shared' because people had waited until I had 'Shared'. I gave that a bit of thought but decided that it merely balanced off the dozen or more people that had arrived an hour or so after the evening had started because, I suppose, they did not want to do their bit too early.

From this mornings wet and very misty morning, comes this piece below out of the sheer joy of the peace and quiet and wonder of  living close to the super woods a couple of miles from my home.

The Glory of the April Woodlands 

Thick misty rain at seven o’clock this morning

Time to leave home for our weekend run

Damp with dewdrops my nose tip adorning

We needed rain and should not be scorning

Value nature study now without the sun 

The greater the effort the higher the prize

When Bluebells bloom and we are blessed

A purple carpet on which to feast our eyes

As slowly to their highest height they rise

Early still and they have not reached their best 

Drawing one’s eyes away to the distant sight

The moving mauve of a million wild flowers

Swaying with a gentle breeze today so light

Above, the canopy of green leaves seems bright

Top lighting the richness of the glowing bower 

Soon to be overpowered by the blueness here

Wood Anemones tremble their wee white petals

Closed, asleep, hoping this misty time will clear

Wait to open its face up toward the sun to veer

Its fate to hide beneath where settle nettles 

Primroses lie around in clusters on the banks

Cowslips and tiniest velvet Violets there

Birds sing their little hearts out to give thanks

As summers engine up to full steam cranks

Winter gone, a country walk or run we can share 

How few see this free gift of flowery treasure

Breathe this perfumed air and let imagination blaze

Take some time to come out here to measure

Time wasted frittering away our moments of leisure

To amble through our woodlands deep blue haze