Mayday at Berry Farm

Not much to look at yet: the trees knee-high:
the lake is more a gesture than a fact.
But given sunshine and a holiday
we've brought our boots and picnics to the jazz.

On the platform they shuffle round, tune up
with slicks, discussions, exploratory chords
for kids from Bedford, Wootton, Willington
and all the corners of the large scale map

where music draws attention like a kite.
Unfurling oak and ash, the stripling buds
will some day own this air, and call it green.

The marquee holds its breath. Then willows stomp
and skiffle in the breeze. The sousaphone
declares it summer over flymown grass.
Anne Berkeley