The trees on Hall Road are stripped,
Bare, rising up in a heaving clump
Behind the panel-built school gym.
Forty or fifty birds tumble out,
Rise as one into the December sky,
And come to rest on the houses opposite.
The only colour in the scheme is a shock.
In the corner of the half-full car park,
Bright red berries amongst black thorns.
When I head to the corner shop,
To buy a can of Coke and the EDP,
The sound of birds there erupts.
A melee of blackbirds.
Picking at an all too rare winter feast.
The only colour between here and the bus stop.
Scroby Elbow 