A magpie gave me two feathers today.
I stuck them in my hat.
When a bird in flight gives a gift of joy,
you can’t ask better than that.
feathers
Homespun Twaddle
a fae should never wear feathers
they would float much too far off the ground
they’d soon blow away and might not get back
that’s what the old wives say
*****
don’t drag people down rabbit holes
until you’ve been there and back by yourself
*****
meddling with magic has unforeseen results
thinking you’re clever is the act of a fool
wizards and chess masters think they see all
but they have no control of the stars
*****
if you live in stone houses
don’t cast the first glass
we are all far too fragile for that
looking tough never works
when you’re shattered
false dignity makes it worse
*****
I am not wise
I’m an idiot
So I never bother with fools
A Change of Climate
Swish of tyres on tarmac, passing,
sunshine streams, pooled pavements,
broad silvered snail trails of light,
reflection rippled in shallow puddles,
dark stark trees, spider limbs.
The sky is white, blinding, bright.
Up above a magpie screeches
it splits the air, startles me.
I squint my eyes to see
a flurry of feathers, a turn, a spin
the sky expands, all is dazzle,
sparkling shimmers, lifting wings.
A flock of migrating starlings taking flight
my heart rises up, follows
as they dip, turn, rise again
patterns shifting, riding air flows,
take direction, vanish to a far horizon
I may never see again.
Red earth that burns your feet,
rising dust walled by dried out mud,
cold shade in fountained courtyards,
the call to prayer at dawn
above green and golden minarets,
African heat, a dream.
The Dreaming Path 