Lords of Flight

We watched the aerial battles of two kites and the buzzards last week when the fields opposite our house were cut for hay.  The elegance of all the birds was a wonderful sight to see, but the beauty and tactical manoeuvrings of the kites won our hearts, and temporary possession of the field.  

Lords of Flight

The dips and folds of the corduroy slopes

Draw in two kites, swooping and swirling, 

Circling with the wind-ruffling breeze, 

Effortlessly readjusting flightpaths

To shadow prey amongst the drying hay. 

As they dip and fold into the valley

Bronze undercarriages flash red against clear blue skies, 

Over the yellow ochre of close-cropped grass;

Spitfires against Heinkels, they heckle three buzzards

Until the fields are theirs alone. 

Where do they come from; from how far away?

How do they know tractors have exposed their prey?

All we know is the dip and fold of russet and white, 

The elegant presence of these lords of flight. 

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