Brave Old World



It came good, the weather, by the afternoon. 
A thick weight of sun arrives, lies on willing shoulders; glints and heats and drapes like chain mail. In the wood shade it is cooler and dangerous. In search of skin are the bites of sharp insects: thorns, faery tale thick; nettles, the height of men, bristling with stings.
The bluebells are in retreat. Campions pattern in their stead: pink petal polka dotted in the deep green. Hedges have edges of meadowsweet frill. Dragonflies are dark sparks over the bright river.
Every step is worth the peril.



Comments

Susan Flett Swiderski said…
I truly love the way you write. Your words are lyrical and evoke strong images.
15 June 2013 at 02:55
Lisa Southard said…
Very happy to read your appreciation Susan :-) I find your writing blooms with great kindness and humour, looking forward to reading your book! xx
15 June 2013 at 21:46
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