The sun is beginning to think of dipping her proud golden head
Trees covered in winter coats of thick green ivy and moss,
Stretch naked fingers to the wind
Waving fare thee well to another blustery cold day in Warwickshire.
Crow caught by bowing branch takes to flight
Turning back scornfully to protest at the disturbance
A lone horse in thick red blanket raises her head and whinny’s
Stomping strong legs on sodden ground
Then face down to her feed.
Churches melding into the hillside, grey brown towers against
the green muddy landscape.
Each village in the panorama is marked by it’s own spire
A standing monument to a bygone era.
On the valley floor the river grows wider every night
The Avon rushes on, brown water crashing along it’s course.
Eating into bank, field, sod and stone.
Passing through the county and now over some of it
Night falls with its long black cloak enveloping the land
Fires glow and lights flicker on
As outside the rain starts again
To pound and blow.
Copyright © Andrew Scotston 2014
I am 51, live in Rugby and for my sins work for Tesco. I have climbed 71 Munros but have retired to more peaceful pastimes now. I love the country and writing poetry.