Entry B by Callum MacGregor

Isolation

I press my nose against the pane in wonder.

Sparrows and starlings squabble over seeds, and a blackbird sings.

I can half-hear it, muffled by the barrier between us.

My eyes slip down the lawn, past the trees, through the borders, to the back fence, and beyond.

And beyond…

And beyond the fence… well, what?

What world of mystery slips by each day, out of my reach?

Does the Barn Owl still drift silently over the fields below the wold?

Perhaps he has found a mate, and a hole to nest in. Perhaps.

Has the Cuckoo-flower pushed up through the grass yet? 

Perhaps the Orange-tips already flutter and dance around her petals,

And lay minute golden rugby-balls on the stems. Perhaps.

And what of the Cuckoo herself? Has she returned from her long winter holiday?

Perhaps she is out there right now, terrorising dunnocks and warblers.

Or perhaps she never made it past Malta. Perhaps.

I cannot tell from here, so –

I press my nose against the pane, and wonder.

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