Follow Your Heart
Hail strike on the driveway sends me back indoors to
retrieve waterproofs. I mean to walk around the lanes but find myself at the
gate to the woods. A few times the steep mud path slides me faster than
expected; there is barbed wire suddenly underfoot, a rotten trunk thumps the
ground after I reach to hold it. Overhead that bright green canopy sways, lets
melt water pelt down my neck. Bluebells stand surprised by the invasion of ice
chips. Churned up river runs mud-brown, is feverishly swollen. Sun warmth
brings everything from its shivering. A woodpecker echoes. From the crumble of
wall, I observe the detail of reflection in the quarry pool. The illusion is so
perfect: I could jump in, climb those trees.
In the heat of walking home I also stop, take off my
jumper, stand for a moment, amazed.
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