Burbage Edge. Winter solstice.
A secret note pushed into a wall,
A rune scratched hastily
onto a stone on the hill.
Birds talking in tongues,
the sedge, frozen to attention
struggles to whisper on a chill wind.
Bronze beech leaves crackle a warning,
A grouse scolds a kestrel
weaving patterns in the sky.
Tracks in the snow,
Badger runs criss-crossing
like a puzzle.
The randomness of the landscape
Encroaching
Confusing,
Challenging
The onlooker to comprehend.
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