The circuit . . .

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!

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