17th October 2022
Places beyond the garden but within my hedgebanks
Where soil was dug, stones banked, and the wild invited.
Thus created, tangly refuges for the sun against different winds;
So, on any day that my weather eye sights break of cloud imminent,
I to one of these.
Two days ago I heat-rested, back against coarsegrass bank:
Still air there; while, above just behind, busy young blackthorn stems
Coarsely carded the bluffy north breeze.
Then, over their ruff and squeak,
A succession of small disturbances heard, as of a wren’s forage…
And, appearing just inches to my left, beautifully nonchalant,
Processing slowly with such orderliness
Like the most perfect model train,
A grass snake–
Not a small one.
Up between bleached stems parallel to my arm
At less than hand’s distance,
Clear clean grey it was, gappily sided with black checks:
A supposed camouflage, so startlingly bold
Against the autumn fadery of summergreens.
Quite unperturbed by my wary shifting to watch,
On sedately across the bank
Close behind my head
To skew-meander higher
Until all gone beneath a buddleia.
I held there, elbow-leaning, to muse:
Should I feel honoured by that creature’s trusting of me,
Or worry about its naivete?
For,
How could it have foretold my friendliness?
© Christopher Jessop 2022
