Drama on Battle Hill by Ruth Bean

Morning mist lifts like a velvet curtain,
beams of light pierce through the darkness.

Slowly life switches on to its performance,
the stage already set, for the drama to unfold.

A fine line between humour and death,
as acts are played out on a continual roll.

The humour, as one leaf seems to balance
on its own stick like a spinning saucer.

Then nature flips sides, to attack its own,
the stomach of a tree gouged out, guts exposed to all.

Next, the unthinkable creeps in,
a piece of plastic hangs limp on a tree limb.

Another lies, on shrivelled up brown leaves,
as if the plastic has sucked out their oxygen.

The evening mist now falls like a velvet curtain,
beams of light start to switch off.

Battle Hill is enveloped in darkness,
but still the drama carries on.



8th August 2010