Wonder at a City Pond

Mallards, water hens, swans; all round-bellied on the pond

or rotated 180, peaky-arsed upwards, delving for food.

Down there the arrow-headed, sleek-sided, taper-tailed

dart between beaks, hooks and gobble-jaws.

The magnificent refinement of bodies here at a city pond;

we strike the pavement to move along

as a flock of gulls, maybe fifty or sixty, swoop low over the water,

cutting the air; blades, slivers, silver clavicles.

I can't help feeling after the breakdown of the recent climate conference in Madrid, that it's time for us to insist through the ballot box that breakdowns are no longer acceptable, that representatives should be locked in until resolutions are found. It's gone too late, and too catastrophic to be accepting less.
And, as for those who don't accept climate change as a reality, we should insist on their participation; whether accepted or not, the implications are too great for anyone to be taking risks with our children's futures.
With the greatest hopes for enlightenment among our leaders, let's hope for a great 2020, as in vision and the new year. M