Helicopters

Frost melting in the sun as diamonds fall from trees
to sparkle on carpets of leaves that fell last year.
The wood is cold, sun yet to strike the heart.
Helicopters ponder overhead, blades crack like whips
lashing the air as I cross the field, waking sleepy molehills
shimmering the pond on their way to the airfield.
Here, in peace, they train for war,was ever so and ever more.
January has a little time to go  wild clematis defies the cold
clinging to a larch, pale leaves innocent, or defying, I cannot say.
Jack  nowhere to be seen the last I saw his tail
he'll come back when I call, knowing there's a biscuit.
I wave to the ponderous ‘copter on its way for home
close the wicket gate as peace returns once more.