Something about this is wrong
This car-peopled asphalt desert
This severe architecture
All edges and angles
Not a crack in the pavement
Not a weed in the flower bed
Trimmed bushes with no flowers
Deathly silence
A discarded dust mask
A dirty wet wipe on a lawn
Five minutes later in the wood
Everything feels right
The soaring limes rise like massive pillars
Worshipping the dawn
The fluty calls of a song thrush
Answered by the insistent alarm of a great tit
Treebark weaves sinuous patterns
Pools of light illuminate small clearings
In shadier glades
Bluebells stand to attention
Soldiers in massed ranks
Saluting the day
Antenna
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