A poem by Madhuri.
The season is tilting towards darkness
But the last light
is golden
slanting onto the mown hay,
filling up lush meadows.
Armloads, heaven-loads, of golden light
thrown into the meadows
filling the undersides
of breeze-blown leaves –
The light is golden
floating and warming
the rough stone walls –
My face is cold
with the alarm of winter
half-hid behind that hill –
But oh,
the light is golden
as if it grew inside the meadows –
a vibrant hymn of butter
all is resting in –
a vat of giddy transparency
thrown down from the old and generous
sun
limning the red cows there
like ghosts,
ruddy and earth-bound.
Wadsworth, W Yorkshire, 2018
Poem and illustration by Madhuri – www.madhurijewel.com
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