Hameau

From our lofty position above the plough
the Hameau forms a Y-shape,
a rough grass lane bends taught
like a thick tensile blade from left to right,
an ancient cart track cuts an axis against the mow.

Seven cottages lie cradled here,
each roof taking on a different aspect,
like sentries on guard, waiting
to repel the wolves that will surely come
bounding from the newly churned furrows.

But for now, no noise
save the twilight crackle from the fields,
where other bovine guards diligently stare
but offer no alarm in their ambivalent armour.
We wait.

Corn blond, then gold submit to russet
then sentries set their light
and from the futile ramparts
peer into the dusk
that hides the dangers of the night.

© Graham Sherwood 9/2012