Having had a marvellous time in Scotland (just before the operation) I wanted to come home and write lots of bucolic poetry about the wonderful scenery I had witnessed. This … Continue reading
Flesh and Feather
Drab brown drag bustling with the snap and jitter of twelve frames a second. Squabble tweedling with dickering kin scrabble-flickering for errant grain. The farmers sons with .22 strength … Continue reading
A Deserted Village
An Architect would no doubt weep at the maze of tumbled rock found sad, lonely, lost beneath the sweep of beaten bracken paths. Summer * brings bright silence with each … Continue reading
Breathing in crisp must The scents that herald winter. Understanding that written on each golden page, Shining words of renewal.