Frost-rimed daffodils, heads drooping.
Gently waking as the early rays
stretch slowly across the garden.
The beech hedge still sports her
coppery coat, waiting yet on the
budding greenery to nudge it to the ground.
The red stalks of the dogwood burst
with burgeoning buds.
And the wind has dropped.
A bike ride, later, in the sunshine.
Rustling undergrowth. A merlin scavenges.
In the field the curlew capers, her
curved bill delving for grubs.
As the skylarks rise, unseen, to
herald the new season.
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