The birches vanish progressively
as the plastic is pinned to the inside of the studwork
nominal walls til now,
skeletal rectangles allowing light and wind.
Plasterboard starts to define the interior space
where owls perched and pelleted the rough screed floor
Around the house the birds swoop and soar ceaselessly,
the martens spilling wind, pulling their wings back to flutter briefly in stasis
as they pluck insects from the new hatch
while swallows wheel in the higher air.
I wait in the doorless portal
knowing evening warmth and calm
and the busiest time of opportunity,
the cattle grazing as if at harvest.
The hills are softened in vapour
and mottled with shade
from cloud teased by distant winds
blowing seagulls in from the east.
Young lambs on the hill
demand to suck:
their calls enter the new room