Tucked-Away Treasure Poem by C Richard Miles

Between hanging branches,
Patched into a green glade
Of beech, ash and elder,
I strayed in the cool shade.

A shimmer of midges
Flashed, fluttering in free-flight,
Sprites sparkling in silver,
Mist-mirrors of sunlight.

I, musing, meandered
Alone with my headphones,
Mind swimming in Elgar,
In march-along band tones.

A pastoral idyll
Away from the humdrum?
In fact, to be truthful,
The suburbs of London:

Church Path in North Finchley,
Just back from the High Road,
A daily diversion,
A break before workload.

A short cut each morning,
A miniature pleasure,
A tincture so tranquil,
This tucked-away treasure.