Hedge Laying

The blackthorn is brittle, and he pulls the branch over

with care, like his ancestors the bowmen. Two or three

deft strokes of the billhook part the bough at its base

as if a predetermined split is programmed within its

DNA leaving only a strand of bark that will channel

next year’s rising sap and shape the ancient patchwork.

Lain over, he weaves the pleaches in and out of hazel

whips, each inclined at cubit intervals, measured from

fingertip to elbow, gathered early from his secret bower.

Stepping back he checks the line and selects the next

to lay, an elder, laced with late honeysuckle, and an old 

nest, and while the autumn sun warms his back his mind

occupies several places and one place; rising ewes in

flushing meadows, and ragged rams and spring growth.

John H Davies

24th March 2011