A poem by Pratibha Castle – recited by the author.
Wolf sense idles me
into a random field where
sheep take a brief break
from munching grass
to glance my way.
A black face dam
fixes me with Satan gaze,
transmits a cipher I likely
as I mount the stile, swing
my leg across as if the worn wood
is the saddle of an imaginary mare set
to canter me off into a fae mist distance. Beyond
the field a path through the woods
petals open into a copse, incense
of wild thyme, garlic blooming
beneath my feet. Blowsy
clematis tosses into a breeze
wafting the fantasy of a cuckoo.
Dryads lean in, anoint me
with whispered prayers. I drift
in wonder at a tail feather amongst the leaves
from the red kite keening in the blue, flash
above the brook of turquoise,
shadow splash of a heron.