as if to grace me with their presence, the golden eagles turn and glide above me, soar on the updraught, wings outspread - I watch their feathered fingers, their coloured bodies, as they glide round over my garden as I sit the swallows and the swifts chatter and dive, blow raspberries, swerve and scythe, as if they too bid me remember there is life, remind me to livenext poem