the storm the rookery rode - had pockets
of calm such as a pink road of blossom
unsliced by tyres - had flocks of cossetted
sheep - a breed for each coomb - gossamering
the hedgerows and fences with wool - summer
moult mixed with winter fleece. the beech ridge
roared in the wind - yet the penumbra
of wood was just quiet - as an airbridge
of bush led me to bluebell lakes and pools
more complete and still than a graveyard
in the gale. there stag step clear of the jewels
without crushing them. no matter how hard
we try - we cannot manage the same depth
though at storm like the rooks - we are adept.
22 May 2021
Oh consider the etymology of ” gossamer” if you like. Then you can see it is not such a silly word.