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.