Young Great Tit
In my hands, frail beat
Of fledged feathers,
claw and beak
Fly now, far from me
The dog pauses, wait!
Just long enough for me
to
Find a fledgling perch
Hunting Buzzard
Sky-writing above
Longhand. Slow,
deliberate
Soliloquy quills
House-martins and
Swallows
Weaving through
hedgerows
With the evening summer
light
Strings of bird bunting
Young Starlings at St.
Margaret's Chapel
From the bell tower
They leap. Hearts
and wings clamour
Not falling...gliding!
