NeuroDivine

I found myself shaping these lines in the crisp hush of early frost, walking toward the station as the birds lifted their chorus into the pale blue morning.

The early frost along the lane,
The breath that clouds the morning air;
The jays cry out their sharp refrain,
And rooks rise ragged from their lair.

Blue tits dart quick through hedgerow bare,
Great tits call bright from willow bend;
A goldcrest, hardly even there,
Gleams like a spark the saints might send.

The canal lies in silver rest,
Its stillness holding dawn’s first grace;
While birds in chorus, east to west,
Lift song across the waking place.

The train-line hums its distant call,
A promise through the muted blue;
And in that chill, I walk through all
The world remade in morning’s hue.