the greening woods ...
each infinitesimal 
change in the newborn 

A familiar path, and yet, day-to-day, a fresh bloom, or briar, or scat, a joy, a depression, a meanness. Here, for a few steps, the heart-shaped prints of roe deer made as the fingers of dawn were plucking away the stars, and there, the eerie bark of a buck and the cold drench of a shudder despite the warmth of the sun.

To left and right, the creamy clouds of the May, a new delight, whispering of sweet nothings and wrist-ribboned betrothals, yet equally, with its sickly aftertaint, a crowd of sorrows warning against the armful brought indoors lest the ancient curse should be forgotten.

The always expected yet unexpected visitor, that first swatch of bluebells or the brass of a warbler just blown in from Africa. Spidersilks tree-to-tree, freighted with tiny diaphanous things, feathers, seeds, the dark thought, the shame, the malice. That gnarl of hazel, a brief perch for the wren’s loud and ebullient song. Lofty pines chafe together in the breeze and a momentary awareness lifts the eyes to a blue window of sky and the keening that heralds the buzzard’s gyre.

A backward glance to the oak, once lithe and limber, dubbed widowmaker by a sudden gale. And ahead, a gentle play of light that could be something fleet of foot, or wing, or a guide from beyond.

new grandmotherhood 
spring’s glorious mess 
of birdsong 

Author’s Note:

Italicised text is extracted from “The Guest House” by Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi, commonly known as Rumi (1207–1273).

“The Guest House” is reproduced at Grateful Living from The Illuminated Rumi.

Claire Everett

has served as editor for various journals including Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, The Red Moon Anthology, Haibun Today, and Skylark, and as a contributing editor for MacQueen’s Quinterly. Her writing is moving slowly from predominantly poems, to chapters. In her other life, Claire works as a Care Coordinator/Social Prescriber for the National Health Service supporting local people with very diverse needs.