Late November Country Walk


I tramp for miles across low Field

from chalky cliffs through ancient Wield

from Spire to Spire and all between

beneath each stride lie those unseen


November’s light is quick to fade

as were the souls with which was paid

the credit that with every Step

we promise them “We wont forget”


Yet in the swathe of Fallen Leaf

the scarlet petals wilting grief

seems soon forgot by passers by

as were the voices asking “Why”


Then as the early fall of night

casts shadows on my failing sight

I’ll stand before a Wooden Cross

to contemplate their greatest loss



The cold envelope of day arrived,

Before the waking hours it had malingered not wishing to break.


An invisible blade separated the confines of its containment,

Slowly all the events it bore spilled into being.


Its contents multiplied and diminished in equal measure,

It delivered and received with both joy and sorrow.


Those subjected to its presence being captive to the great unravelling

Neither flinched or submitted, they simply absorbed themselves.


The heavenly body it arrived upon dissolved to darkness,

Carrying everything and nothing away in its void. 


All that was, still was. All that had been, had been.

Everything had changed, everything was the same.



Fingers fall on keys

Like leaves,

Sweet sounds soothe minds

Like breeze through trees.


We sway and dance

As if to swerve,

We pray and chance

To hold our nerve.


No Matter how

we lean or bend,

The storms that form us

Meet their end.


And in the nooks

Our journeys knot,

We can but hope

We’re not forgot.