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Looking out from the 700 foot contour

rain kissed the barest touch of grey mists

on hills in distant woodland patchwork

each tree reveals hued leaves and buds

different colours mottled vibrancy offered

lime shades of oaks glittering early leaves

glistening Ash buds unseen barely lingering shy

in spring still holds back from false summer days

the Raven in its bowered oak cleft kingdom

unstirred by gusting wind or raindrops frapp

rifled oak bark running hard lined rivulets

in the orchard salmon pink quince glows

Ghost road


Lightest yellow whitening moorland grass stretching

waved wind shifting flows into the uplands plateau

distant ravens specked black in white grey clouded skies

wheel unhinged glide soar above the flat worn track

(excerpt The Ghost Road)


Stress related break from writing broken! And the relief when the words come through and the story begins to tell itself again a delight.