Natural World

Poem 863 – Watching Reynard

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I press my nose and bristles upon the glass
leaving a smeary imprint on the pane.
My breath condenses, creating a ghostly view.
I wait for it to clear and then renew
my vigil of the wildlife on the other side.
Somehow they’re ignorant of my nighttime vigil,
playing or resting in the dying light.
They seem content, possessing a simple ease.
But then they start, I’m rumbled, so I turn,
my white tipped tail the last thing that they see.

Reynard came to our sitting room window last night and for a moment we stared at each other.
(26.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jeremy Vessey on Unsplash

Poem 860 – Seeking Lothlórien

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My quiet place, site of transfiguration,
green sanctuary before the trials begin.
I walk between your slender trunks, inhale,
and feel your peace invade the deepest corners.
The dappled light caresses me, your leaves
massage my soul. Here, in your gentle shade,
my pulse slows down, my breathing calms and fears
take shape. No longer nebulous they are
reduced and I am raised. My shoulders straighten,
back aligns and chin lifts up. The chiffchaff
laughs, singing to my core, restoring order.
Inaudible, your water’s deep joins in,
a living bass sounding permanence.
Strolling, the different colours of the seasons
rotate: spring’s budding green gives way to summer’s
blue, before the autumn’s sweet decay
to winter’s monochrome. With each a different
chorus echoes, from warblers’ ecstasy
to cuckoos’ mournful sigh. With every scent,
each call and tint, the grace of hope is given.

A comment by the poet Malcolm Guite about the need for places like Tolkien’s Lothlórien, or moments like the disciples witnessing the transfiguration in order to be refreshed and enabled to cope with the challenges and trials of life, made me wonder where I turn to. Wandering through the nearby River Lee is certainly one such place.
(23.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 855 – In Step with Spring

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A tidy row of ducklings tucked into
the riverbank, their golden bodies radiant
in the April sun. Their mum stands proud,
her chest puffed out in joyful observation.
Her newborn row’s a fizzy line of hope,
a cheeping stream of opportunity
that lifts our spirits, points us to potential,
wiping aside the winter’s clingy gloom.
Smiling, we string along as mum looks on,
her rising summer fills our thirsty souls.

The many ducklings in the New River were a glorious sight today.
(18.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Robin Teng on Unsplash

Poem 854 – Reynard’s Feast

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Reynard appears from behind a car, a mystery
carcass dangling from salivating jaws.
He pauses eyeing us with wary wondering
eyes. Are we a threat? Should he withdraw?

Our curious eyes return his look, where did
his meal come from? No doubt he stole it in
the veiling dark: embolded burglary from
a plate, or salvage from an upturned bin?

We read each others questioning looks and stay
awhile until resolved we walk away.

A dusk encounter in an evening stroll.
(17.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Tim ten Cate on Unsplash

Poem 851 – Güle Güle Ölüdeniz

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A chittering call and in the Martin sweeps,
an elegant swerve beneath the open eaves,
curving with ease around the wooden trees
that hold our roof. It teases us, one sweeping
dive and then another, until it flits
from view and disappears. We hold our breath
hoping to see it reappear. We wait.
Finally we find it upon a rafter,
the nest in which it sits feeding its young.
We watch with joy, pointing it out to others
until it makes its move and leaves. We wave.
Soon after, we too disappear into
the world, swooping from our temporary
perch,
to fly across blue seas, returning home.

Every day we’ve watched Martins flying in and out of the restaurant, wandering where they went to. Today we finally found out just before we left.
(14.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 847 – Olüdeniz Lagoon

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Iridescent kingfisher blue lined with
a sandy olive, tints of turquoise flow
from gentle sea tide ripple. Shoals of silvery
fish, inquisitive and supple, dance
between our legs and toes, as silhouettes
repeat upon the shimmering bed below.
The air is warm, a tint of azure salt
upon the lip, dreamy seasoning
intruding into true. We dive on in.

Today we revisited the lagoon where we came a few years ago with the Alsatians that adopted us. A beautiful place.
(10.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 846 – Kayaköy Blooms

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Kayaköy, your bleached stones bloom before me.
Mourning your children snatched before their time,
your silent wailing groans throughout your homes,
echoes disturbing graves and gathered grime.

But even as these tears descend there’s hope:
chaffinches become redemption’s raucous choir
and nature’s tendrils reach around each stone,
their blooms compose a far more cheerful flower.

We hiked back to revisit Kayaköy having been there a few years back. A place of terrible atrocities which is gradually being taken over by an abundance of wildlife.
(09.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 845 – A Türkiye Sundae

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The tips of Turkish mountains rise above
the whipped cream clouds. Upon their ivory crests
the trees appear like sprinkled treats. I long
to taste their paths and tread their ancient streets.

What gain in winding around its many layers;
consuming but never making it to their end?
The unexpected view of nature’s gifts,
the joy of exercise and feeling spent.

The hills around Olüdeniz are calling. Planning a good walk in then at some point during the week we’re here on the old Lycian Way.
(08.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 844 – Soon After Take Off

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The wings extend, reaching for the horizon.
There the gentle earth curves from our sight,
whilst up above the hazy blue invites us
like freshly laundered duvets. We dive in.

Below the fields stretch out, a honeycomb
of every green from darkened moss to sun,
detailed by hedgerow lattices and throbbing
tarmac veins. Soon distant trees compress.

Lazily we rise and patterns change
blurring in their complexity and scope.
Individual fields combine. Gradually
we dissipate and all is reconciled.

Flying to Turkey on an unexpectedly sunny morning.
(07.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 831 – A Seasonal Sonnet

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Cherry blossom blooms, confetti showers,
dancing in tearful hope of dawning light:
rejoice in this annual ritual uniting flowers
of winter and spring in matrimony bright!
The promise of good times ahead now dark
days fade. The stretching daylight joyfully cheers
the heady bride and groom as they embark
into their life as hopeful pioneers.
But on the street the rumours start to grow
of infidelity, illicit heat.
As temperatures rise and passions flow, the oath
once tightly held becomes a forgotten conceit.
The underlying cause of this concern?
Our tendency to mine, exploit and burn.

I was struck this morning by the beautiful blossom that currently lines our streets and then later by a storm of hailstones.
(25.03.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by dadalan real on Unsplash