Ashridge in December

In the sunlight
everything in Nature sparkles
the moss bound Birches
resplendent as they lean
atop, the fan like branches
of pure silver
and an ardent kiss
from December’s frosty gleam
motionless, the wind it seems
resting on this Sunday
and all around the litter collecting
team
thoughtful early risers
collecting what’s been thrown
out of cars, bottles and jars
that then become wind blown
and obviously unsightly
and dangerous to those who
who amble through the forest
the wild folk
or even you
joggers caked in mud
early risers too
using Sunday to get fit
their faces look quite blue
I can’t help thinking
sitting in my car
writing these odes
its better in the long run
than running on the roads