The sun is shining through the trees.
A crow flies in the sky.
I hear a chainsaw on the breeze;
It’s cutting wood that’s dry.
Although the clouds are black as soot,
It doesn’t seem to rain.
And so I set another foot
Upon the country lane.
A cyclist coming down the track
Is going quite a pace.
I look at her, and she looks back.
Then each averts their face.
The crow alights upon a bough.
The chainsaw’s gone all quiet now.
Photo by Bianca Ackermann on Unsplash
