Remembering the heron

Remembering the heron that moved from tree to tree We traced the carttrack past the Anglo Saxon mill Speculating that each cart would have carried a prince’s ransom of Precious, Tyne watered grain turned into flour.

Value was on our pandemic barriered minds. The value of friendship, of time and space The freedom to meander between poetry, politics and the Living of a life with impact and space.

Turning up the hill to the old road and the new, Remembering that the flood washed margins of the burn had been Ripe with plants in summer. How to return to that growth, those leafy days? We talked, and listened, Around us the calendar moved to summon the heron.