I photograph the long line of lime trees
yellowing, framing it like a painter,
catching patchwork colours
as if painting by number.
The caw of a crow
makes me lower the camera.
It is chasing two house martins
although crows do not chase house martins.
The crow is too big.
Approaching down the old tram road
getting bigger and bigger,
tall as me, it passes through me
and I know I have crossed something on the spirit road.
Not long ago I made a powerful choice.
This is my world now. Not that picture
of a crowless scene but a road of omens and possibilities.