Walk with me along familiar lanes. Hear the whir of bird wings and the fields full of heavy bellied ewes with lambs waiting for the spring.
Walk the lanes where the earth of flint and chalk lies bare, lined with straggly winter worn hedge. A shard of a brake light lies shattered, brittle with the cold. In the hanger, squirrels fidget amongst the hewed trees and I walk on and up into the haze of the winter sun.
Beneath the hedgerows are snail shells white with age, dens and burrows uncovered, exposed. In the fields shadows are giants and the skin on my face is tight against the cold north zephyrs.
I pause on a bench made from a storm damaged tree and watch the twitterings in the fields. Stone chats, skylarks, crows and rooks all mingle around a meagre feast.
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Walk With Me