Place Moves

Sometimes the place is still and you move

Sometimes you are still and the place moves

With clouds behind me and the wind in my face

I assumed the place would be dry

But shortly after arrival

The place moved

Whilst I was still

The breeze stiffened

And the sky went dark

The buzzard, there on arrival

Flew down, back into the valley

And it rained

The place changed, with me in it

A drama unfolded

A daily story

Mundane

But magnificent

A blasted heath

Roared, quietly, briefly

And moved on

Leaving the audience

Me, the sheep, the curlews, the hares

The cuckoos calling in the distance

Moved in place

By the daily play.