The houses in my small town stop on the brow of the hill and then come furlongs of fields, footpaths, and farms. I last visited here in late October, when the mist was thick and the grass heavy with dewdrops
The months of rain which followed turned these clay earth fields to mud and so walking has been prohibitive until now…At last the weather is drying, the sun has shone, the earth warmed and there are still skylarks singing on the rise.
Already the dandelions have turned lunar grey
and swapped their sunshine yellow with the buttercups
I could have stayed here for hours, torn between the vistas
and all the little details
but thundery weather was already building in the cumulus clouds so the decision to leave was made for me
PoetryPix 