FINE WEATHER BADGERS...

 Fine Weather Badgers…

The Monday:

Fine summer rain hastened onto the copse,

Occasional droplets falling through leafy steps

Onto my bare neck, hunched shoulders and grey hair;

The shaded canopy darkened the badgers’ lair

But none would emerge

To scavenge,

Or rummage,

Or even sniff at the rain…

The Thursday:

Fine summer dusk fastened onto the copse,

Occasional birdsong spilling through leafy steps

Near to my motionless silence, eyes aware;

The shielded woodland awakened the badgers there

And a half-dozen surged

To scavenge

And forage

And sniff at the lane…

Pete Ray

9th July 2021