Between the Poles
20th March 2022, 3.33pm: spring equinox
Beneath the newly-leafing elder
a shoal of wild garlic is secretly flourishing.
Above my head, a pair of buzzards flips and plays.
Yesterday I wrote ‘Saharan dust!’ in the thick
sandy spatters on the car bonnet. Today
the wind is backing; and here on the bench
at the top of the meadow I can see east
to the far horizon, though not enough
as to hear the bombs and smell the fear.
Everything cycles between these poles:
summer and winter, dark and light, peace
and war. For this one equinox moment,
though, on the cusp where day and night
are held in equal tension, I can almost pretend
we could change our lives, the world.
© Roselle Angwin
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