Part 1 - Echo
The cirrus clouds are edged in gold
by the setting sun.
Through a field a couple are walking,
in the distance their friends are waiting.
A row of oak trees edge the field,
on a branch a lone bird sings.
I pause, and look, but cannot see it.
The midsummer evening is warm
and still. The leaves on the trees hang
like sleeping bats.
Beneath a tree a man is sitting,
obscured by the shadows - he watches.
A distant church bell starts to ring,
the couple stop - they can hear it.
In the distance is a pub - The Old Bell.
For a hundred years a fire has burned
a welcome in its hearth for all who come.
When it is quiet you can hear the echo
of revellers past.
Softly whistling the man rises
and walks away.
The lone bird pauses his twilight song.
A cat prowls among the grass,
the couple try and coax it to them
but it darts away - afraid of strangers.
It climbs the oak tree,
a dark silhouette against the dusky sky.
It pauses, watches me, I keep walking.
The sound of the bell -
only an echo now.