First walk of August,
a stroll down the lane,
- what a magical experience!
Summer has cast her spell,
bewitched the island
with sprinkles and smells.
As meadowsweet blows,
a dusting of summer sugar
tickles my sensitive nose.
A sneeze alerts the bees
and they all dart about
making me dance and shout.
Swaying foxgloves, tall and wild
do charm them for a while,
their buzzing slows to quiet hums.
Towering cow parsley, headstrong;
bushy ferns, boisterous and bossy,
do jostle in the crowded hedgerows.
Behind the hedge a herd of cows
all mellow, except for one that bellows
untill at last she finds her missing calf.
Dragonflies patrol the ditches
either side, zipping in and out
like wizards on spluttering sticks.
Where a cloudless open sky
meets with land of heather and gorse
the birds do chatter and nest.
I wander uphill to the old chapel,
roofless ruins adorned with moss,
headstones lean, weathered and weary.
Think of the souls who rest here
and those who thought them dear,
what tales they must have shared.
Onwards I go and round the bend
where lane stretches down to sea,
I've reached my journeys end.
I turn back and venture home,
enchanted by thorny tentacles
and thoughts of blackberry jam.