The footpath is beset
With nettles drenched in dew;
Each drop magnifies a hair,
Reflects the season’s cloudy hue.
A canny mist rolls in,
A spectre rising from the sea
Winding through every field and broad,
Every stalk and reed.
Its tendrils cling to leaf and flower,
Turn gossamer to filigree,
Muffle the throaty calls of crows,
Blackbirds’ and thrushes’ melodies.
Breathing new life,
Daylight fragments the gloom;
Villages and hamlets wake to see
The landscape shed North Norfolk brume.
© Kim M. Russell, 2015
writing in north norfolk 