...est in Arcadia ego...

This early morning air, pellucid, refreshing, soft

A time of hush, just before that cacaphony

Of hope that marks sweet May - the lifter

Of moods, the harbinger of hope, the visionary self. 

Filled with all the quiet majesty of an English breeze

Stirring the leafy canopy as the sun begins to 

Follow the shadows of dappled zephyrs

And now serenity herself stirs to waken with the echo

Of tranquillity, hinting to me of that sense of 'quiddity',

That borderless 'whatness' of every living thing,

Which fleetingly draws me to the marvel

Of existence: butterflies, green leaves, bird-song

Thrushes that build as they sing. May-time 

The palimpsest of our enduring stewardship

Of all the passing glories of the day.