Thank you skies for clearing, grey clouds and foggy head. Thank you air for cooling breath, as we ran wherever hearts led. Thank you forest for holding us in miniature forests of heather, moss, and lichens. Moments to cherish, in January.

The fruiting visual beholden in damp, Secretive but yet so stunning to spot. At once reminiscent of tiny worlds, Of miniature magic, of faeries and elves. But also of hidden underfoot sprawls, Webs of connection and soft growth unseen, Alluring contrast of feast or of death, A juxtaposed, umbrella-posed, quiet fungi stands.

Crusted icing sugar and biting cold winds, Brought a hungry speckled cousin here, Surveying from swaying fir branches, On a fruit reconnaissance. Our luscious rosy crabapples, The spoils of pigeon feasts. A few still budded the boughs And signalled precious fare. The blush and grey-capped spy grows brave, And plucks one in its beak. On paper-white ground it pecks and feeds, Before the blackbird cousin charges forth. Four times this game of intrepid fieldfare, Back and forth from foe: The…

She goes down to the cool waters, Sets boats of leaves afloat, She exhales their sails along the top, Of calming reflective pools. She sharply twists the bladed seeds, Watching spirals fall down. She taps the branches of Spring trees, Sending blossoms to the floor. She rings the bluebells in the woods, Peals of dappled light rocking. She puffs the clocks of dandelions, ‘Til small fairies dance about. She is the sprightly nature’s kiss, Who tends to all that’s good,…