Coed Nash, Presteigne 26/8/2019

 

These woods are not yet burning

Cool with green growth still

August heavy, waiting autumn’s turning

The anxious heat of outside filtered

The only flame a fritillary

Amber, not a warning yet

She swoops, then lifts herself

Not weightless, heavy with sunlight

Pulling our gaze to trees and sky

She’s silver-washed beneath

The orange energetic glow keeps moving

To show how green and still these woods still are

But we know, we know watching

That other trees flame, not with butterflies

But devastation

That weight she bears on carbon-patterned wings

Cast upwards with the smoke

We turn away

We must leave this cool green way

And step into the harsh reality

Of that burning glare

Did she warn us? That single flame

We look back: these woods are not yet burning

But some are.