In the Spring of 2010 the wind in East Anglia blew directly from the Artic and the low temperature locked us in Winter. This position held until March, when the wind suddenly swung to blow from the South and swiftly brought us the long awaited season change.
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The unseasonal cold had delayed the blackthorn’s bloom
now warmth opens dense white clumps across the heath
static clouds locked in place beneath the taller trees.
Like impatient passengers flowers pushed and jostled
to ensure their place in a conformity of coincidence.
The change in wind has drawn the migrants
travellers from the South each carrying a song
excited to arrive and impatiently rehearsing.
From deep within the theatre’s blanched perfection
the hidden southern singer has brought the summer.
Two keening notes clear Luscinia’s throat
then bursts of mellifluous liquid rill
freeze conscious thought and flow
through the mind-stream of ancestral memory,
idling on the delta of anticipated pleasure.
* Luscinia Megarhynchos is commonly called the Nightingale.
