Cranes stalk the shorn wheat fields

claws kicking up blue and orange specks

unsuspecting beetles trying to burrow in the rich dark earth

On the other side of the pathway,

hidden deer call out

disturbed by my bike as it rushes past

One blink and it passes by

brief glimpses of life seen in between

the net of tree branches

some, flush with leaves

others, aged and dripping with moss

It encircles me until all I can hear 

is my tyres on the concrete

and all I can see is the green tunnel

and the groove of the cycle lane

steadily unwinding in front of me

forever unspooling through those shorn wheat fields

where the cranes stalk and the deer call