Not Quite Spring

 

Muddied country lane etched with

Criss-cross wagon tyre prints –

Horses stamp alongside fence,

Steam, hot from fluted nostrils.

Strands of windblown hay, straggled

Hair cast from a balding blonde

Blend crisply with my footfalls.

Nosy peek into a cottage window

Reveals smart row of china ladies.

Corrugated iron collapsed in rusty

Hedgerow lair waits to ambush

Shorts wearing cyclist couple.

Man halts some yards head and

Tired, hot woman pedals to catch up.

Raindrops pool in ankle turning ruts, as

Bare twigged, dormant Hawthorn

Apologises for her leafless nudity.