Those early morning stints in winter
give way, as they usually do,
to fly-pasts and congregrations.
Crows squawk and finches tweet
while a solitary heron beaches itself
in mud-flat edges, ready to fish.
Circumspect road crossings
announce a few clear seconds:
the rattle of cars over cattle grids,
students plummeting in
to their education – though,
once again, I’m sitting on a bench
before class, hands up