Slough Ramble
Walk at sunrise and feel your soul appear....
Sun cracks the hedgerow, paints the path in gold,
A crispness hangs, the night's damp breath grows cold.
Leaving tarmac's grey, I find the muddy lane,
Where dog walkers trudge, and fallen leaves complain.
The slough, a muddy scar across the field,
Holds mirrored sky in puddles half-concealed.
A heron stands, a statue carved from stone,
Waiting, unhurried, till a frog is shown.
The air is thick with scents - of damp earth's hold,
Of fallen apples, bruised and turning gold.
Blackbirds squabble in the hedgerow's heart,
A symphony of life, tearing worlds apart.
I ramble on, the squelch of mud a song,
No destination, just where paths belong.
A pheasant bursts from cover, wings a blur,
A startled rabbit dives, a furry stir.
And in this simple walk, this muddy trudge,
A quiet thankfulness fills me like a nudge.
For breath that fills my lungs, for sunlit sky,
For this chaotic world where wonders lie.
Each rustle in the leaves, each robin's call,
A brushstroke on the canvas, painting all.
The slough reflects the changing light above,
A reminder of resilience, strength, and love.
No grand pronouncements here, no epic quest,
Just moments held, a simple life confessed.
Blessed in the mud, the rustle, and the squawk,
A heart that's grateful for the world it walks.
