Mike Ferguson



What if that leaf was a kingfisher
caught out of the corner of my eye

hovering above the river,

the autumn colours flapping in the late
afternoon’s light, a momentary
if ultimately teasing flight? But then
what of all the drowned birds
dead on the river’s bed; and where’s
the surprise of spotting one from
thousands on a tree amongst the other
thousands of trees in a forest of feathers
in this autumnal deception?

And don’t get me going about the
complexities of Spring and summer.



Mike Ferguson taught English for 30 years, but having left this job, now writes and reads and listens to music when not examining to earn extra having left that job.


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