A Plectrum


The ivy had become a beard
along the hedge way.
I stood by the bus stop, waiting,
Waiting.

When a motion, a chaotic
flight came across my eye line.
I watched, glued to her wings.
She hurtled at the leaves before

coming ashore on the green blaze.
Her plectrum shaped wings
were strumming the wind
that tickled the leaves.

Before she was pulled back out
thrown like a meteorite through
space. Her wings rapid in hope of
keeping her away from the skin of tarmac.

By Gareth Culshaw

flying pigeon with pointed wings


Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

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