Where Scarecrows End

On a day of scarecrows

The little patch of oil, beneath your sump

Called to me

To put aside Wray’s springtime pride

And ride my early miles, again.

Where teenage fingers

Cold or burned, begged broken thread

To mend and seal

The engine’s heated flow

And let the boy get home

And sliding frozen rump

From frozen saddle, fingers stiff

To feed and heal

In mother’s kitchen

The willing price of independence

Where scarecrows end

The little patch of oil, beneath your sump

Sang to me

To put aside Wray’s springtime pride

And ride my life, again.

©Stephen Tanham

The Wray Scarecrow Festival takes place in the lovely north Lancashire village of Wray each year in the first week of May. The beautifully restored pre-unit Triumph motorcycle was a complete surprise