Posted: 07/04/22

Sunrise 20 March - Anna Route

Vernal Equinox.   

Here . . . 

The river is swollen but this is NOT the Ganges, no Holi colours will be refracted in its depths. 

Britannia, Minerva, Eostre – half-remembered deities stand sentinel with me, I track the haze of Aurora, then  

Sol! 

Shimmering ruby meniscus breaks over my home place.  Elevates suddenly – startling birds to frenzy of calls and rejoinders until Shotwells is ablaze – no gunpowder in the air.  No destruction here – not yet. 

To the west, 

the moon, her lunatic face no longer blazing waning gibbous, slowly occluded.  Dips to dance the tightrope between two pylons that span the Humber.  The silver lady of the heavens retires.

Wilberforce, bloke on a stick – he can stay, even if his time is over – his work isn’t done.  We may need to consider his legacy. 

Had we but world enough, 

and time.