Composed and dictated straight, after deep meditation in a spring wood, in the middle of England this day ….

I lie on my back face to heaven,
 sun one side, moon the other.
 Beech leaves rustle, then they still,
 then quiver, again.
 I'm not good with bird sounds  
 but they're good with me.
 And so they tweet and sing their way
 weaving somewhere up above me. 

Today has brought the sigil
  and the other signs of spring.
 The bee on the hazel catkin,
 the hawthorn, just one bush full of little leaves.
 I will gather a few of these early spring salads
 and earlier, it caught my good eye
  in the Korean Fir, a ladybird
 foraging for its supper. 

It could have been a different day,
 it could have been a harder day,
 it's been okay.
  More than okay, so much more,
  for I smelt, briefly, the honey smell,
 before the honey, before the bee.
 The sigil and the seed await
  on the spring advance, the arcing sun.