Peep Show In Weed-Land…
It was like the terrain had been ravaged by a digger, to make a small clearing
In the copse, but perhaps the raked soil, the loose and freshly dragged
Dirt had been created by the industrial claws of badgers, scraped from their setts, laboriously.
It was like the tall weeds were trees in miniature, stretching and bustling furiously
For light, creating clumps, islands of green, their slim stalks flagged
By small white flowers in the gathering gloom of a breezy, warm, May evening…
It was unrecognisable. A path had been worn between those weeds, massed and high,
By badgers crossing the small wood between fallen branches and mature trees,
Which reduced my chances of spotting them investigating the food I had taken.
Then, beyond dusk and as I stared at the bleakness, feeling rather forsaken
By the clan, inside the dullness of one hole, a small badger’s head was visible, like a tease,
Yet inquisitive, drawn to the scattered peanuts, yet painfully, intolerably shy…
Pete Ray…
10th May 2026…
It was a shock to see such a change to a copse I know so well and it was interesting that some sett entrances, once well trodden, seemed redundant, whilst newly dug ones stood out, despite the newly grown camouflage of weeds…
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