Walking on the Estuary Hill

Adrian Green

The curlew and the heron call,

the hissing mud and whispering wings

beat eery through the idle air

until the moonlit midnight silence falls

and then the tide flows softly

through the gut and sluice of estuary sands

and dark against the dreamlit sky

the trees arise from hedgerows,

and the hills

alive with monstrous shapes

are menacing with soundless fear,

and still below the blundering man,

the beery and uncertain head,

the stubbled fields hold secrets now

and silence fills the river bed.