1464

A swan, out below

The weir, has two grey cygnets

Snuggled on her back.

I'm dive-bombed

By a flock of swallows

Casually gleaning

Across subble fields.

Brian Hick summer 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 16.5.26

 1454

Firle 2 5 15

Rain clouds drift across the beacon's head

Greying the damp spring fields, softening skies

As if muslin veils enshroud the Downs

Keeping them snug within a gentle void.

The dipoles and the ridge path where we walk

Have disappeared and even closer to

Swallows swoop then vanish from my sight,

Sheep rest, blurred against the misted hedge.

The train is quiet, a distant mobile call

Alone breaking the rhythm of the wheels.

Empty stations pass unnoticed till

The downs are gone and placid to the south

The sea yawns as the evening closes in.

Brian Hick 2.5.15

©copyright Sally Hick 21.4.26

 1446

      My first

    Asparagus

    This year.

    First fruits

Of summer joys

      To come.

Brian Hick April 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 1.4.26

 1443

Southampton

Town Quay, 4pm

Sun breaking through the clouds

My pencil's shadow poised across the page

A pint of Red Cat from the Dancing Man

The Solent silvered in striated light

Red Falcon loading for the Isle of Wight

Prose turns to verse as beer and sun combine

To turn these passing moments into wine.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 25.3.26

 1442

Equinox

The birds have sensed the turning of the days

And rock-bees warm themselves against the wall.

A robin boasts unseen beyond the twitten

Challenging our blackbird's morning call.

Skirting round the oak wood, as I stroll

To fetch the bread for breakfast, tiny points

Of pink smile from the branches which have stood

Barren since the winter dried their joints

Until this morning's sun - poised midway

Between a winter death and summer joy -

Heralded the signs of love to come,

All the gifts that nature can employ;

            As if I can't recall the endless years

            Your love's been there to dry up all my tears.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 23.3.26

 1440

Frost on the fields

A heron lifts and glides

Silent

Silhouetted

A dark gash

Glimpsed against

Pale morning sun.

Two rabbits run

Along the hedge.

A pheasant stands

Perplexed, unmoving.

Near the railway line

Snowdrops and crocuses

Crouch

As if afraid

Their colour will confuse.

Commuters, closeted behind

Their headphones

Heedless

Unaware

That Spring

Is on the move.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 18.3.26

 1437

Two larks call to me

High above Ditchling Beacon;

Spring is here at last.

Brian Hick March 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 11,3,26

 1424

The winter sun has eased away the frost

Softening the ice edge where it turns

Transparent, seeping downwards as it's lost;

The winter sun.

By the sea wall a teenage couple stand.

Their silhouettes hung like a dying ghost

Of the day's heat, shimmers as his hand

Stretches out to touch her unseen face.

They move away towards the pier and

Fade, as falling twilight creeps to encase

The winter sun,

The winter sun flows on across the Downs

Lighting up the beacons as it cuts

From Firle to Lewes, Alfreston to Glynde.

The winter sun

Low in the east is bursting with new fire

To burn and quicken, purge and purify

Releasing dormant earth to rise again.

Each tiny root, each single sleeping grain

Touched in the thawing darkness out of sight

Will at his touch, explode into the light.

The winter sun.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 5.2.26

 1270

And still it snows, with no end in sight;

Day after day, wind battered, in despair

Of the Spring's return or the sun's light.

And still it snows.

A robin challenges the morning air

Telling me, of course, that he is right,

All will be well and I should not care

Just because it's cold and that it might

Linger on until late May or more

Before we see the end of this dark night.

And still it snows.

Brian Hick spring 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 10.5.25

 1348

The fields lie heavy, brown with broken soil,

Skirted by thin hedges and dull trees

That watch the ruttted silence, standing gaunt,

Until their branches mutter in the breeze.

No rats, no rabbits, no birdsong from the sky,

No sign of life, no hint of coming spring,

No cattle out to pasture, no new lambs,

No buds, no green, no insects on the wing

To hint that under all this sense of loss

The future fights to break unto the light;

Each root stabbing down as shoots rise up

Before exploding, ravishing my sight.

While you, who had this planned right from the start

Enjoy the silence of a thankful heart.

Brian Hick March 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 28.3.25

 1346

With the weather so bad, I thought it must be snow,

Those branches lined with blobs of brilliant white

Against the starkness of the bark beneath

Until they shimmered in the early light

And blossom drifted on the morning's breeze.

Surprised, I looked again and caught my breath;

The railway bank was dappled, overcome

By early Spring, as if a lingering death

Had been laughed off and shafts of the unseen sun,

Oozing through the trees, touched some with gold

And warmed each sleeping bud, returning hope

Of rebirth and the end of winter's cold.

So after days of darkness and of doubt

You smile on us with February's rout.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 26.3.25

1347

A  bed

So comfortable

I did not notice.

Brian Hick February 2014

 1345

During the storm the birds had disappeared

But this morning a blue tit fluttered through,

Stopping briefly at the coconut,

Before it dived across the hedge onto

The barren branches of the only tree

Left in our garden.  It soon flew away

But a pair of blackbirds swooped down to the fence

Eyeing the line of seeds, but did not stay.

A sparrow landed, flustered, hesitant

Then two wood pigeons dropped onto the shed

'Til, singly, they pecked their way along the rain

To find the sesame seeds among the bread.

            Spring seems a long way off but this quiet morn

            Life returned with birdsong in the dawn.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 24.3.25

 1344

After a morning's downpour

The dipoles on Firle Beacon

Are silhouetted by the sun

In ever-bluing splendour.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 21.3.25

 1339

The mud-splashed windows of the Hastings train,

Trundling down through Robertsbridge and Battle,

Can't expunge the fierceness of the sun

Though creeping darkness oozes from the sea

To lurk behind the deepening silhouette

Of beech trees, flat and stark, along the ridge.

Short tunnels and dank cuts block out

The waning rays, and every passing bridge

Snaps shut the lingering image of the woods

Made hazy, as each fast dissolving copse,

Unfocused, washed out, merges into one,

All colour faded to amorphous grey.

The landscape disappears into night

And we must wait for the return of light.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 5.3.25

 1338

After the wind

The rain sets in

Gusting up the channel

Mangling umbrellas

Setting all at odds.

Perhaps

When it has settled

All will be well.

Perhaps.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 28.2.25

 1255

Robin

The branches are still bare

But you sing out

Undaunted,

Knowing better than I

That Spring is here

And though there are few signs

And none upon your branch

Your trust is absolute

That  Spring will come

That warmth and growth will creep

Inevitably

From the solid ground

Until the dead and sodden earth

Is smothered in unbridled green

And every note

Unchanged since this day's frost

Will chortle

You were right.

Brian Hick February 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 26.2.25

 1172

      Wantage 4.00pm

         Standing by

          King Alfred

           In the rain

And not a tea-shop open.

Brian Hick May 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 29.5.24

 1154

The door is locked, the gate is barred

But through it I can see

An uncut lawn, a sprouting hedge,

A blossoming plum tree;

All signs of a returnig life

Green from what was grey;

And all that has lain long as dead

Resurgent, live, today.

And what of me, behind the door

Protected from the blast

Of life and change, of energy

Which challenges the past...

Brian Hick April 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 23.4.24

                                                    Norfolk Coast Path

                                                    Friday

                                           Larks in the dappled

                                Sun on Weybourne cliffs guide us

                                             On our final day

Weybourne Priory, cliffs, larks

Skelding Hill past golf course

Art on the sea front

London style lunch but cheap

Abandon hill walk stay on beach

Heavy going so only get

to West Runton

Ladies have cakes - orange and maple / coconut and lime

Make for pier to complete the walk

heavens open up

Shelter until it goes over

But still raining as we leave.

 We shelter

But are still wet when we get back to Glendale.

Brian Hick April 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 18.4.24

                                                Norfolk Coast Path

                                               Thursday

                                         A warmer morning

                                 But by lunch the rain returns;

                                   Thankful for small mercies

                                         If Glendale's toilet

                                     Paper were any thinner

                                         It would not exist.

On with the walk but first we have to leave the car at Cley

And take the Hopper back to Wells, thankful that the day,

Though overcast, is free of wind and penetrating rain.

Damp underfoot the path from Wells to Morston is quite sound

Helping us to make up time

Morston oysters The Anchor alpacas and a dead mole

The rain and MUD, tea at Blakeney - no shops

Change in river course not on map

Get to Cley - nothing!

Wading through the sliding mud, it's onward till we drop

And as we get back to the car, the rain decides to stop

Brian Hick April 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 17.4.24