Homecoming
coming
home
is gentling hills, a pencil line against the sky.
and hedges reaching out to touch your hand
as seeded grasses swing pollen in the air.
coming
home
is roads that curl around a wood and wind
along a rivers edge, where deep brown pools
hide the flash and swirl of shy brown trout
coming
home
is fields of molten gold where swallows skim
and small brown butterflies flutter busily
between cow parsely buttercups and corn
coming
home
is cows upon a distant hill, and shifting sheep
among cloud shadows lying on the grass
and the comfort of a thrush's song at dusk
coming
home
is the peace of trees, or a passing breath of wind
that drops a petal from a scented rose
to lie on stones warmed by summer's sun
Pim Claridge