Everyday Poetry

I put my washing out on the line for the first time this year.  It only got direct sun for a couple of hours, but this ritual always marks the start of spring for me, the time when the sun finally makes it over the horizon of the hill and falls on our garden.  I share my seat with the bright dome of a ladybird, Warmed by the sun on my face, The squat mug in my hands, The trilling of birds in this year's mating ritual, The washing wafting in the soft March breeze; All making the most of long awaited sunshine.   © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

We got up early today to witness the high tide coming in along the Severn estuary, from the Tower Hide at Slimbridge.  It was meant to flush out the thousands of plovers that overwinter there,  but most had already moved on and only a few hundred were left.  Despite that it was a magical place to be in the early morning light.  Under unfamiliar bright blue skies two dozen or more pairs of eyes watch for golden plovers to ride the incoming spring high tide. Scopes and lenses held up high swing to the left then to the right, following any bird in flight, their constant haunting cries. Classic plover Vs slice the sky, above Russian white fronted juveniles, curlews piping, all the while,  two cranes touch down in graceful glides. The water spreads the river wide, its greedy jaws gnaw the estuary's side,  it creeps towards the Tower Hide, where we stand gilded, in morning light.  © Copyright 2026. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved