My finest hours

My finest hours
I bought a piece of land
about an acre & half
rough land
half way up a hill
escarpment to be precise
with a slope on it
to prove the point
bramble & bracken
bits of scrap metal
dumped over the centuries
I set to
with the biggest strimmer
I could find
strapped to me
shoulder harness
ear muffs for the row
I cut from bottom to top
that way the weeds fell flat
other way round
I’d be working through weeds from above
took me about two days
all around shaking their heads
what’s he doing that for?
& to be true
there were moments I felt
exactly that way too
I followed this up
spring & autumn
about four hours each
not letting the bracken take hold
stopping the brambles take root
& in the third year
each year thereafter
a bluebell wood came
I planted a thousand trees plus
losing four out of ten
to deer
felt best not to remind each other
of ‘what’s he doing that for’
they knew
leaning on a wall
putting down thoughts
late summer
I’d be twenty two, three
between places
& it was flowing out of me
the excitement of ideas in gold
to share
how life
was at that moment
I was broke
tired of love
that wall was the universe
centre of this small world
all eternity in the moment
scratch of pen to paper
hearing the people say
as they walked by
content in their world view
what’s he doing that for?
I knew
& that’s all that was needed


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