There was a time when a small shack,
– unused in decades – stood here, shaking
under a barrage of wind and hail;
door barely hanging on by it’s friable
rust devoured hinges; charged
with the reek of leaf mould
and rotting hare. So moved by
the desolation I vowed to spend
my retirement ekeing out a living
in the renovated bothy, content beneath
my hanging valley, to watch the nearby
island county shine in winter duskfall.
Maggie on Dudley and Eunice | |
![]() | Rockall Mugs | Will… on It’s Pissing Down On… |
![]() | Peak 3 (Stillborn) |… on Alderley Edge |
erroneouschoices on Brittle (for Greg) | |
hana on Succotash |
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