September 23, 2012 § 1 Comment

Passing through gateways made of tall yews and treading lightly beside grassy graves a steep staircase appears descending through the faithful greens of an English wood. The palpable pulse of tree sap and the trill of the odd unseen bird would ordinarily be enough but there is the sound of water. An urgent stream of spilling water seduces the feet and the loyal greens become mere context as the senses plunge towards the scent of belonging.


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§ One Response to infidelity

  • beverley says:

    note to self and to anyone who read the original post, i woke up this morning realising that the last word ‘home’ was not exactly what i meant, ‘belonging’ is closer….

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