Mist sprayed, moss topped Gleaming grey rocks Sculpted, rounded Fixed in fizzing waters Iced-tea stained Ancient, untamed The dipper’s domain

The subject & style is a little different than is usual for me, & so it’s with tentativeness that I share this poem I wrote about yesterday’s solar eclipse. (If there’s one person here who reads it & enjoys it / with whom it resonates, then honestly, that is enough.)

Even the woods is not a particularly pleasant place to be right now, aesthetically or audibly. Noticeable almost everywhere, are the leaves curling at the edges, drooping, browning, some having dropped; the hot wind has whipped up drifts—a brittle crunch to the kick. No relief for the worried mind.

House Martin nestlings, nestled. Incomprehensible, really — soon, mere weeks after hatching, these tiny bodies will leave this quiet, quite safe & sheltered spot in rural England, & make a perilous, latitude-crossing journey to sustaining wintering grounds, via the Mediterranean Sea & Sahara Desert.

If 37°C or above is reached this Thursday in the UK, it will be only the 9th day on record that 37°C or above has been recorded in the UK — for the 3rd time this year. So, three out of those nine ≥37°C days have occurred in 2026…

Four months on and I learn that my submission was well-received, and is due to be published online at the end of this month. Pleased of course, and grateful for the opportunity.

James Gilbert@jamesgilbertmr.bsky.social · 5mo ago

Just submitted a piece of writing to an online literary magazine. It feels good to have done that. My writing—my expression—is out there. There’s no expectation. I don’t know if it’ll be judged as any good but, if it’s not, I won’t view that as failure. The urge has been met, & that’s all I can do.

Recently read this—a fine book exploring our attitudes to nature. An excellent, engaging read—informative, honest & balanced. Had myself wishing Ian lived near to me; regularly over a coffee, we could cheer & console each other on the state of British wildlife & wild places. @iancarter67.bsky.social

lonely is the sky and my summer heart now the swifts are gone

Catching early rays, a red admiral.

in-between tides stillness in constant change a curlew’s far call

susurration without melody the summer lull

A sweet young robin, breast speckled brown but for the faint flush of red like a small graze on a child’s knee.

A thrilling, unexpected sighting of a silver ghost today — a (male) hen harrier drifted my way down an unkempt field ditch, with textbook ethereal elegance.

Young blackbirds pepper the garden in recent days — delightful company. Their learning ways; their warm, mottled traybake plumage; their sweet & soft ‘tchup’ conversational calls.

The quiet, drowsy heat The shining, ripening wheat The shimmering air, & mirage Over knuckle-hard dusty chalk From a rose-clad hedgerow A yellowhammer, suddenly, & citrus bright Offers his pleasant rattle &, in that moment, all is right

the last swift the first pipistrelle the evening star

Out under a forget-me-not sky, walking the grassy margins of a ripening wheatfield. Yellowhammers sing atop the hedges in this noonday heat; their dry, cheerful rattle is carried in the welcome breeze.

A flight of swallows, young & older, gracefully skimming over a wheatfield edge dotted with poppies; chittering as they go, blue backs sheening in golden sunset light... So beautifully did the summer speak.

This I wrote in sorrow, & as self-therapy, after visiting & walking a short reach of a precious English chalk-stream.

Earlier today a gorgeous male blackcap visited the garden, & gleaned insects from the single dogwood shrub I planted a few years back. This tiny, blink-of-an-eye event—that I had provided something for this bird—was just so gratifying, akin to the warm glow felt by a child having been well praised!

Today, by the glittering brook, sitting in the deep shade cast by the old oak tree, is where you’ll find me.

Twilight cloud with a salmon-pink flush.

catching late sunbeams diaphanous wings flash red scarlet tiger moth

So fortunate to have the peregrine falcon resident in town; the fastest animal known to science, an icon of the sky. Its presence & aura enhances the place in which I live & call home. One can nearly always be seen perched on a crocket to this church’s spire (as here).

A worn male blackbird, out on the tinder-dry lawn, tirelessly scurrying back & forth in the blazing sun, snatching flies. The record-breaking June heat does not stop him, such is that intense parental instinct. A rather poignant & also beautiful thing to see.

Sleepy owl in sunrise light.

Viper’s bugloss engulfed by (Yorkshire) fog. #wildflowerhour

The blackcap. Before he gets to singing his silvery, fluent best, he starts like an excited child who cannot speak their words fast enough.

Just now, the crescent moon, hanging just below brilliant venus. (Quite a spectacle — the photo does not do it justice!)

Blackbird song overlays tapping rain. It’s all I can hear through the open bedroom window, & I’m breathing it in.