|Free Google image this time. Camera playing up and won't upload my pictures|
4.30 am and I'm in the garden. Too hot to sleep and have a bit of a headache - too much birthday Pimms yesterday. Garden wonderfully cool; trees silhouettes in early morning light; cockerel crowing in the distance. And bats! Swooping silently, half invisible, there and then not there. I love watching bats on warm summer evenings. And mornings. Anyway D. H. Lawrence says it better than me so here's an early morning poem. Or a bit of one. Though unlike me and most people I suppose, Lawrence doesn't like bats.
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where the light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
Dark air life loping
Yet missing the pure loop
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.