between the start of the pipit’s peep by Phil Barnett



Phil Barnett has had a lifelong passion for the natural world. In particular for the area of countryside outside his front door in South Lancashire  – “The Patch”. He expresses this through music, painting, photography and more recently writing prose and poetry.

























between the start of the pipit’s peep
and the ending three months later 

in flea time

In that moment
I’ve moved along the path
by two fronds of bracken yard

a million pixels have flitted
settling like soft snowflakes 
into new positions where they’ll be
for just as long as this instant lasts

last year’s grass lattice
a coarsely woven weave of
willow herb stems that
tessellate afresh

a jigsaw jumbled and then rejigged

I’ve felt a small mountain range 
beneath the feet
peaks jutting just enough to be cogs
that mesh with flesh
and earth me to the moment

flapping wings of breezeborne birds 
have sent runs of cool air
whirling, draughting wafts 
that only I will ever feel

between the ending of the pipit’s peep
and the start of the bullfinch’s pipe





Phil Barnett


birds knit my ribs together by Phil Barnett