It reads:
Northern skies scowl down on a land barely blessed by the springtime sun.
Bold March winds weave meadows into angry tapestries of green.
From this portrayal of the seasonal shift a sound thrills my heart; bubbling trills flow, like a musical stream over stones.
The Curlew is back!
Dappled creams and browns fight those brooding skies; the wind cannot halt this heralds passage.
Moments pass, the bird flies up the valley. But, the spirit awakened is now strong and look!
Isn't that life I see before me?
Nigel Kerwin
14/4/95
