As if somewhere an archangel had unsheathed their (s)word.

     As if the sky answered in kind, an eruption of fire-light, 
     a cut of red-orange leaking through the old beech leaves.

As if the hill was a dynamo of bright g(r)asses.

     As if one could pour the sun
     through a sieve, and thereby separate the fine
     particles of light from the coarse.