Sanctuary

The slap slap slap
of wood pigeon
dropping, then rising
from the pine tree
reminds us that we
are only visiting.

This blue wood
is ours for one more week
before our neighbour
runs his bullocks here:
earth-heavy, slow,
they are the guardians
of these sacred groves.

We are just visiting,
drinking in scent,
our footsteps murmuring
prayers to the
angled sunlight.
We whisper here.

An owl spreads silence.
We are watching,
gazing, all eyes;
all ears; all sense
opened up. Tjese
dappled spaces
form our sanctuary.

For Brendan at earthweal. I’m back. Sort of.