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
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