Devant la deluge

Clouds were thickening from the Atlantic west this morning, and by the time I'd climbed to my eyrie the air was filling with the finest of drizzle - so fine that you could only just discern it on skin, leaving the ink on paper un-blotched. There was no wind to drive it, and the still moist air carried only the sounds of skylarks. Combined with this stillness, the attenuated light from the leaden skies heightened a sense of expectancy. It prompted me to note a few lines down, as material from which to forge a poem. I was going to write a HAIKU but I couldn't leave the metaphor of radio comms out.

On-air chatter
larks break, curlews on the side;
zephyrs' breath moves along the channels.
Foraging queen wasp-noise advances and recedes.
A young frog skips clumsily
for refuge from my footfall.

I was delighted to find that the shelter had been undisturbed in the week I had been away from it. In fact I thought it looked as if it had always been there; plant-life continues to blur its edges. I added more reeds, dried grass and moss in an attempt to make it feel even more a part.

Now I've taken my light-weight folding stool up, I'm able to flit around and make quick sketches much more comfortably. I found a nearby tree stump that I'd not noticed before, and observed it from an angle that seemed to reveal its history. I need to return to this; it has so much more to reveal about structure, growth and decay. So here's a HAIKU from the observation:

The more that decays
the more is revealed of life
Sliced through each sap spring.

Now that the shelter seems to have assumed its own mantle and become a part of the location, I'm beginning to think how I can be as well. It seems inappropriate to be wearing ordinary clothing. I'm feeling a strong instinct to be a full part of the harmony around here.