A bee flies under
thin weave of grass
where she lies flat, 15.
It disturbs the spiny seedheads
and flies on. It seems
tall sky duck-egg blue scud cloud winds easing
The dog sleeps dreamless
by the garden pond.
The life of frogs
is full of luck.
She peers below the marigolds,
uncovers a dim paradise of beetles.
long sky arsenic green with mottled cirrus humid
Chicken shit and lichens dot
dry concrete flags. Self-seeded
into the cracks, the tender
leaves of columbines.
She paints her toenails
carefully above the dust.
bowl sky Palnackie blue cloudless hot
Lawn grass too long uncut
is bent, bead-spangled.
A droplet quivers at a tractor
gone burring up the brae -
and then it stills.
There’s no reason to wait around.
cranefly sky hammered silver high altitude nimbus no wind
The baler’s stuttered rap
loses ground to the tow
of a warm front spooling
out of the Atlantic. She goes back
to watching a red kite turn
like a thought on a thermal, before storms.
galvanised sky loss-grey mares’ tails heavy rain
Jean Atkin’s new collection How Time is in Fields available from: www.indigodreams.co.uk