passeri. a solitary and swooping old world sparrow swirls and swerves above me. it’s a swift and darting sky dance, around and about and sometimes through towers and torrents, sun-gold. this is may’s final extravagance, this setting crowning of these gentle hills that slope with grace into glassy water.
soon will come the tumbling twilight. soon, too, these ancient, wisest, grotto trees, with their jade green leaves, which at first i thought new but in truth prove near-perpetual, in the salt-scent cooling and perfumed breeze, will transform, turn to shaking showering fountains. and their blossoms, having finally learnt their wealth, will, as pretty and as pale as sea pearls, and no longer bound, becalmed, but as if they, now, were sailboats returning home, they’ll break free of their branches’ binding, and this is their becoming, i suppose, their embracing of this bravest descent into a lower, brambly, harbour, home. and then, summer.