Poldark Members of the Nature group have been revelling this year in the delights of the wonderful Moorlands hay meadows, especially those managed by the Staffordshire Wildlife Trust. One small example is the meadow in the Foxlowe garden, seeded some years ago by green hay from one of their reserves. It's scythed every year as part of its management programme and this year some of us came to watch the action and listen to Mark Johnson and Maggie Pollard read their meadow-inspired poetry. Thanks to Peter Oakley and Nigel Williams who did the scything and to the poets. We reproduce Maggie's poem here.

Scything Time

Turning, tipping, just so slightly,
fair July gives way to August days.

So soon! I cry.
Last time I looked
the creamy hogweed flowers caught my eye -
were reaching out and shouting to the sky!
Now drying seed heads nod on sturdy stems
in still-warm breezes,
tilting with the turning year.

Abundant golden grains
are yielding to the scythe.
And Lughnasa, the God of light, bows low.
He knows his place of yearly sacrifice,
full ready to renew this cycle of the Earth.

The Goddess smiles,
and lifts her skirts
to hold the jewelled seeds.
To guard them all,
and keep them safe.
Until the Spring allows
another flowering
to come.

Maggie Pollard 1/8/21