St Peter’s, is an attractive rural Parish a mile or so from Guernsey's coast.
I lived there for several years before moving to my present home in Bordeaux.
After dark, I used to love to walk with Rufus and Holly, my Border terriers, through the twisting network of St Peter's lanes.
The coolness of the night air seemed to energise all three of us and the dogs were alert to every rustle and scent.
Once I saw a barn owl in flight, and hurried home to write the first draft of this poem which appeared in A Guernsey Double, the 2010 joint collection that showcased the poetry of Brighton-based writer, Peter Kenny and myself.
In a green lane in St Peter’s
near midnight, under a full moon,
a pale owl
flies across my path, silently,
over dark fields to the tree-line, hunting.
to watch his tireless sweep
over dumb ground, mist spreading like a shroud,
till I lose sight of him,
and coldness, creeping,
turns my leaden footsteps home.
In bed, near daybreak,
I jerk awake, heart pounding,
mindful of accelerating time, moments eaten up,
of golden, soundless wings,
that questing eye;
sharp talons reaching for my heart.