It's been a while
since I walked crustacean
rocks, plucking on my way
a feather
off old drunken blizzards.
An aching long while
since I lay in the cupped hand
of my long-lost valley
and slept.

The ash tree nods, heavy
with bean-like fruit,
yellowing despite
the slow-paced calendar.
Deeply incised
in the texture of the day,
the wind has painted channels
in the loose grass.

Toneless light
remember seasons,
time's fearless stride
across hollow mornings

Suzanne Aigrain, 2003