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Subject: This Land | |
Author: Ian Bowen (November 25th, 2007 selected by Paul) |
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Date Posted: 21:05:59 11/25/07 Sun . This land, this single path that cuts the distance between village and forest, following the course of ancient hedges; dividing harvest meadows into quilted pattern. Giant hills look down, on their own shadows; steered by the position of a new, drying sun as the white noise of silence crackles with still life. The fiery skin of sun on corn bakes in burnished wonder; blinding this euphoric walker in summer vaults of gold. Only I move now, alone in this land; strolling, almost floating above green, gold and carpets of white, wild daisies. I thought I heard a pin drop, before an early tractor rumbled into life, far off in the stress of the commercial distance, returning me tumbling, tumbling back down to earth. . [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
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