Let’s say enough
Park the voiceless frown, pursue a mood beyond the muddy trudge and midge misted hedges, a path forested with pine underfoot will thimble needling cares. Those eyes are not fabled threat but dew, purling redacted light, no longer breathe the pulse for more. All the heavy clay will crumble away. It's true! Look at that thumb of oak, the wick flicker in leaves, how the lure of light amplifies, the heartwood throbs. Be surefooted. Don't blur into the mizzle of must! The smother smog! This time take the time to dawdle into the forest and whittle the craft to never crave a happiness for clocks. Dwindle doubt on this leafy path, the car less road, let punctilious bees hum their hives, be carefree! Have I said enough? Market Values Out of the forest of yesterday he came, almost a folktale, the Costermonger with a weight of woe. His handcart freight: Mouldwarp three for thruppence Hedgepig sixpence each Squirrelle two for tuppence Four 'ennet eggs a shillin' Brace of coney a florin It's them penny taxes, he grouched. I bartered with sloe gin, shared a meaty pie. No Blackbird did sing. Northumbria
To walk these borders is to know an expanse of sky which promises, and gives, rainfall and splashes of sun that refreshes land rarely bothered by houses, though even these weather in buttery light like nature's own. The heather scented wind rumours with more than raptors. We descend a path hooded by ancient oak, a stream chuckling as if amused by ramblers on moist mossy stone. There's a dead sheep nestled below. Headless. In lichen-rich forest, air dampens the greens, mutters myth. Daft I know. Such places gather belief.
Flight of the dragonfly 