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SEPTEMBER AWAKENING (in the Stour Valley)

I wake in the drunken, first light.

Heady in the peppered acres of the sky

is redness.

<a data-snax-placeholder="Source" class="snax-figure-source" href="https://pixabay.com/en/sunrise-destination-finger-lake-2761784/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener">https://pixabay.com/en/sunrise-destination-finger-lake-2761784/</a>

Lawns are crowing out of night,

the red-roofed stable rising,

lower at this hour

than moon – flint shadows sleeping there

like shaded continents of maps.

A rich, wild blueness heavies

and apples the sun

in hoards, in autumn

<a href="https://pixabay.com/en/the-fog-landscape-morning-poland-2723356/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>

rising from the river, mists of perch and roach.

These chickens rushing to the opening of windows!

<a href="https://pixabay.com/en/chicken-hen-poultry-pinnate-2692017/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>

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What do you think?

Legend

Written by Jonathan Finch

Years Of MembershipStory MakerContent Author

13 Comments

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    • Suffolk, though it was almost forty years ago now! I still remember the beauty of that river. Am I right about Suffolk? I think so. Does the Stour run through Dorset, too? Suppose so. (Too lazy to go to Google!) Many thanks for your interest.

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