On the High Ridge Scrub
Each day sleeps and wakes in solitude –
it’s motion that instils direction. At least
that’s what I always thought, but it’s not
that simple, he says. He keeps a flock
on the high ridge scrub, and we watch
them from the car. Bursts of rain fill
our heads with hurried sounds, fleece-
tumbled clouds sealing milk-glass sky.
Another storm to carve and wound
the chalk hills, crag the cliffs in a clown’s
tragedy. And there beside the tumbled
stonewalls, sheep bleat – emit a stutter,
a starved beacon to those lost amid
chapped wind and twig scrub.
Inspired by Bleak House Sunday Whirl words: instill, fill, burst,
tumble, glass, sound, clown, fleece, another, wound, emit, seal.