The red kites have their circuit, and we have ours. It’s a bit of a longer walk, all along the dyke until the passage through the field leads to home, and especially in the cold and biting breeze, but well worth it.
Sometimes, a photograph can more surely evoke the passage, but contemporaneous notes also help. These notes are, in a round-about way, the resolution I sought when I experienced the epiphany of the expanded context of my mission, within which I hope to set my poetic effort.
Return Visit — The Circuit: moving toward the gate sunshine and shadow cockerel crows big camera safely stowed in large jacket pocket tweety birds crows crack, pigeons coo red kite twirls overhead . . . is that its cry? stopping for a snap . . . piercing frisson past the storm sample point water rushing ripply ripples 1 ‘missed’ brown glass bottle bottom, embedded in the dry mud dazzling sunshine on moving water the sheep in the field are gone tall brown grasses emerging green nettles still, shallow, stagnant water wind-bashed marsh grass skip clangs to the ground far away discarded tissue, or [charitably] fallen from pocket ancient rusting gate distant windmills, white against the blue sky dark branches arch over drying, green-edged path piercing bird tweet followed by a bit chatter bumbler buzzes about gorgeous sky of blue and white I placed that rail beside the track, earlier! a distant bird conversation traffic, dull roar around the far bend on the dyke the buds are further out . . . green bits of leaves tiny white feather classic countryside sight: black hay bale wrapping festoons on the fence wire bones of a small deer; leg and hooves; fur tumbled down trees by Ken Water, onto dyke wall three circling red kites alternating fence posts pick up electrical top wire chilly breeze makes frozen fingers a dog is following us; takes diagonal to river excavations in the fieldside bank is one going through? 2 gate traverse within the colonnade of fences was the flood water to the top of the fence? the board walk appears . . . mind the gap the overhanging trees have been sawed off kissing gate children’s play circus tent on its side mouldering tyres on rusting wheels back of the estate wooden gabions washed away path beneath drain cover truck graveyard cooing pigeons welcome us back
But now to create a poem out of these scrambled thoughts!
Roads to Joy 
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