A poem inspired by two visits to Wicken Fen, a National Trust wetland reserve between Cambridge and Ely in the UK.
Photo by Pam, my wife
which prompted part of this poem
Wicken Fen: November.
Stillness had wrapped the fen in her
embrace,
nothing moved save the occasional reed
nudged at its base by creature unseen,
a brief, barely imperceptible interruption
of the enormous silence.
Above us, lazy clouds stole quietly across
the vast sky,
punctuating the blue with subtle hues
of grey and white, with edges tinted
orange, pink and cream
as the sun drifted lower in the early
winterscape.
We sit, eliminating even the faint sound of
our footfall on the boardwalk,
and our souls rest content in this Divinely
given, cherished flatland.
