The woodland is framed by billowing dark clouds
spliced by ribbons of sunlight
as we slip-slide along the muddy paths
past a fairy tree guarded by a single bluebell.
Mossy stumps soft as green velvet
entice us towards the heart of the wood.
No traffic noise
only the bleating of sheep
and the here and gone roar of a jet.
The call of an owl reminds us of magic and other realms
closer than a hair’s breadth away.