The Cornish sun is strong today,
as is the smell.
A potent combo of heat and manure; sunlight and cow shite.

The crows add to the mix
with a language that needs work.
Coarse, grating,
and totally ineffective.
Are so many ‘caws’ really needed
just to get a simple message over?

The children punctuate their games
with occasional torrents of tears.
Cascades that blast away my fragile ‘peace’
Like a jet washer of interruption.

A chain saw grumbles on and off
like a cantankerous old man
whose tortured slumber is
risen from with burst of invective.

I close an eye
and sigh.