Sheep Watching St Cuthbert’s Procession Hefted to the Cheviot hills We nibble on grass, sweet near the root A distant sound afears us with swelling beat, of voices, feet. My left ear turns, hones in, a-tunes. Humans bode no good to sheep. Yet sound-joy abounds, no room for fright sun-warmth shines through new-shorn fleece. Ground aware, we feel the grass vibrate I hear my stomach relax, feel my jaw gyrate Stretch out my neck, smell sweetness, touch, bite into spine-tingling flowering gorse.
Barbara Usher practises animal theology on her 4 acre animal sanctuary, Noah’s Arcs. Her poetry has been published in Borderlands: an Anthology,Dreich, Last Leaves, and in Liennekjournal. Her work appears on the Resilience soundscape for Live Borders, and she has contributed to a local project with Historic Environment Scotland.
Amethyst Review 