We work in the garden to mend a fence,
A viciously cold gale blows from the west,
We now know what we need to renew gate,
Replace broken off poles, and chicken wire.
After an hour we head back to the house,
Black shape glides peripherally in view,
Six feet above my head red kite hovers,
Still in the teeth of this wild West Wales wind.
I see it’s head move slowly left to right,
Slightest twitch of wing lifts bird over trees,
For thirty endless majestic seconds,
It arcs across the field, loops back to me,
Soars high over our house then disappears,
Free to fly wherever the wind takes it.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom 27th March 2021.