Outdoors, Stephen Holden

Hythe Hill
My mind returns to the wide open fields,
Bereft of the traction of mans tortured wheels,
Where bracken and heather took claim of the day,
Neath a heaven of silence to lead me astray,
Colne Causeway
With footsteps ensuing my soul raced before,
Down tumbles of meadows my mind to endure,
Past beech coppered rivers and sycamore spin,
Distressed damsel flying and speckled trout skin,
Boundary Rd
The hare watched me pass with its kingfishers stare,
Meadowsweet, honeysuckle scent filled the air,
I bathed in the quiet the long day did bring,
My mind set to wander, my heart set to sing,
Clinghoe Hill
There on the moorland the lone curlews call,
A rookery wrangling to resolve a brawl,
The fawn in the slow wind fast raising its head,
The fox on the hillside all business and red,
Avon Way
High in the clear air I strained for the lark,
The woodpecker knocking alone on the bark,
The dance of the bee and the butterfly’s wing,
The voice of the summer: the song of the spring,
Hawthorn Ave
An ocean of meadow adrift in its peace,
I float in the clutch of emotions release,
Age has ensnared me its tentacles wound,
Yet here in my memories true solace is found.