The evening sun scorches the shade.

The trees, in their glade, are forced to choose;

Stand tall and brave - or turn to crave

the cool safety of the dusk.

Like soldiers from another age, they are proud and tall,

Defenders of nature with their all.

Their bark tells the story, of seasons full of change.

Frost. Ice. Mud. Heat. Few, then a lot... of peoples feet.

...

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And so it begins. Or ends

The seasons change and as

September dies lies forgotten

Like Summer, Autumn October

Rears. Not misty mellow fruitfullness

With rusty leaf colour bright splashing

Hedgerow and tree russet yellow brown,

Mists that turn to rain and wind and heavy

Rain splashing in the track ruts and puddles

Around the farm;  every field soggy with all the

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Sitting to the east

Sloping down to the edge  

Of that other world

In the summer sun

In the winter chill

The sentinel watched over

The little family in the cottage in the hollow

Lately it had felt her sorrow  

It knew when she left Pant y Lleiniau

And walked slowly along the cart track

To reach the little bridge under the trees

Where she crossed Nant yr Efail ...

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Where the fragrant heather moorland borders

wildwood, by the crags above the river,

the harebells and last fading heads of clover

nod themselves to sleep in drowsy August.

The ling is now full-on and tightly ordered

spikes of tiny flowers blanket over

the landscape like an Emperor’s purple toga

swathed across the heights, but thrice more gorgeous.

The fated grouse may look ...

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The shrill piping call of the returning Curlew

Contrasting with the lonely peep- peep of Golden Plover

Plaintive note of Peewit carried on the wind from its arching flight

Wading birds reclaiming their share of the corduroy moorland

Nesting sites found on drier ground among ling and crowberry

Ascending notes of Skylark lift the spirit and raise hopes

Honk of Raven ...

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Beck Stone

Rounded lump of grey gritstone now balanced in the beck

Divides rushing stream linking high heather moor to distant sea

 A shining silver thread through dale and wold to wide Humber

This same stone, surface scrubbed smooth by falling water

Now releases a stanza carved by a craftswoman from a script written by a poet

Ink to paper

Hammer to chisel

Rock to eye

Wo...

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