monotonous months of monochrome light drear and cold as the fifties withdrew when the sky suddenly turned a miraculous blue riding cloud nine on that very first flight where fairy pink shells
golden treasure fished from Fishpool* ignominiously brought to earth workmen forged a building site of the Shire’s medieval hearth deep within the Sherwood forest cached the jewels and noble coin cast into the ditch like
The earth of the Fens more purple than brown raped yellow in April with blizzards of blackthorn and silver birch woods scarred to the bone Across
marked by cloven clamouring insatiable satyrs and the pursuer, Pan resistance etched in your scarring dyed-in-the-wood maiden hand-in-hand with nemesis goes the worm through fleshy underside stripping bark, sickening the rose, *
We see faces everywhere, literally and figuratively – it can be fun but I recall as a very small child being shy of a stranger’s gaze.
I’m joining in with Jo’s Monday walk with a synopsis of a three-day trek in the Sierra de Guadarrama. Not so much dancing with wolves –