Track Diary – Week 5

Week Five

I sit on the viewing seat looking out
over the marshes. The sea of green
reeds has turned to sear. It sways stiffly
in the breeze. An ancient army clad
in rusting armour. The evening sun seems full
of dust. The voices of the two Palestinian poets
Still ring in my ears. Deep voices full of grief
Grave, eloquent gestures, strangely hopeless
Clouds are massing in ponderous grey lumps
Dimly within them I perceive the shapes
Of a horde of dispossessed people They are
Weeping and stretching out their hands to me
It begins to rain. A hard fast rain that stings
my cheeks and drips into my open mouth.
The air fills with the thud, thud of engines
The noise surrounds me. Hemmed in by trees
I cannot see where it comes from. I top
the rise and my vista opens. Across the heath
come two Apaches. Dark olive-matt camouflage
Their snub noses buffet the air aside. They circle
the heath like hunting dogs, rotors whirling
The savage carnivores of our Eastern battlefields
are out on a training exercise. Then from the South
flying wing tip to wing tip, in deep vee formation
comes a squadron of Brent geese, heading home
to their mudflats. Their long necks extend Northwards
Their beaks cleave the still air. The evening sun glints
off their blue-grey pinions. These will not be outdone
for noise. Their wild honking soars above
the deep percussion of the two Apaches. The heath
resounds to a discordant symphony that fades
as the protagonists go their separate ways

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