To begin at the Common-
Two needle-voiced golden crests thread their way through the blue-black sloes,
back down the slope, and trickle tailed clothes pegs, pink and black,
chivvy them on with the circus-caeruleus, aegithalos, major.
Parus major leads his troupe from bow to bow, acrobats and tight-rope walking
mixed bag of white cheeks blinking, autumn creaking.
down the muddy slide where the trees dip their feet in the crinkle of the breeze-rippled bream filled
silvery lake, the moorhen crashes by surprise and splashes across to the safety of a reedy cove,
past the cackle of geese,
past the mallard's sheen.
Chiffchaff spins his presence through the thorns at the Point, stops when found, hides and seeks.
The Redwings have arrived, whispering the news then shyly moving on to carry the cold to another branch.
At the railway crossing, the fat guard, black-capped and ruddy-cheeked,
pink waistcoat peeps his whistle of warning from the haw-berried bush.
The grass cropped corner collects the wind. Black-bibbed-wag-tailed
jump after fly and run,
up and away, waltzing over watermeadow.
Thirty-five tufted duck scud into the air and sling around the pits, lapping the place ever quicker,
ever tighter,
catapulting those at the back off the end of the frenetic conga like children doing it on purpose.
The Grebe, unamused, bobs- sharp face squinting,
shaking the memory of its last fish with a graceful twist,
rolling onto its side, plump whiteness exposed against a growing grey beyond the trees,
corkscrew neck poking and paddle waving
then back to bobbing.
The wind whips across the glitter, blowing the afternoon Kingfisher-cold,
Blackbird chinking, dark approaching.
Leaves turn grey then black,
waiting for the dew to freeze under the starry night
then all is quiet.