A moment to savour.

I would have noticed it
had it been there before:
the small gap in the hedge
and the beginnings of a track
that runs off to the left.

The hedge is dogwood
and wild privet, drenched
with old man's beard.
And there are more
whose names I do not know.
An ancient hedge, to have
such wide variety.

Something or someone's forced
a new way through the hedge.
I follow suit,
snagging coat and trousers
as I go. Clearer now,
the track beyond.
It opens out.
Two could walk abreast,
but only just.

The path seem ancient, too;
is deeply grooved
into the chalk.
Millennia of feet,
perhaps, have ground it in.
The land on either side
slopes gently down;
was wooded once, now
bramble-covered,
sending trip wires
for the careless
across the path.
I watch my step.

I reach a stream,
the path turns, follows it.
And then the moment comes:
a cloud of butterflies
rise up from somewhere near
my feet. I am engulfed
by them, and by an icy,
ethereal blueness.
Pale and transparent in
the weak sun, fluttering
their eerie light
they move with me, follow
for a while, then vanish
as suddenly as they
had first appeared.