How now brown cow newly
before me on the brow of
the hill

For a moment your great
sandy head was that of a
watchful lioness and awed
at forty-five miles an hour
I was suddenly driving red
dust tracks in Africa

Until snapped back to the
morning’s reality on the road
to Mungrisdale

Aye. Red dust gave way
to grey tarmac. Cumberland
bloomed. This was not tundra

For a moment my own great
sandy head is mildly
embarrassed by the watchful
vividness of my colourful
imagination and I concentrate
brake, slow, park, going

And then I find myself again
in a wondrous seat of art and heart
shared creativity and growing

Marvellous. Graced. Extra-ordinary –
a pride of lions and lionesses in a
little village hall. We write 
meditate, laugh, cry, articulate
enumerate – watchful eyes and ears
on the brow of many a glorious hill

and – exactly where we’re
meant to be – thee and me
quiet and still

Simon Marsh