The fossil

From the bottom
of a cliff of soil,
disappearing foot by foot,
year on year,
into the Welsh sea,
I prised a stone.
Sandstone,
fist sized.
I cracked it open on a rock
and found a cockle shell,
white
and on the other side,
it's impression.
I placed it on my shelf
for the blink of an eye.

A bank of garlic

A bank of garlic in the rain
took me aback.

I only came to see
where the path goes,
to look for signs of spring
and anything moving in the trees.

I only came to listen
to unseen birdsong
and a wee stream
dropping a few feet over boulders.

I only came to feel
the deep ridged oak bark
where the ivy climbs aloft,
to feel rocks beneath my feet
and the dampness seeping
in these old boots.

I came to wonder
and look for signs of spring,
when a bank of garlic in the rain
took me aback.