When the earth's crust folded

under pressure to herald a cretaceous dawn

like a stretching monster, to some slow

theatrical gesture of defiance,

the Hog's Back in Surrey was born.

(as yet unnamed.)

 

Over millennia, stern weather wore her down

to a mere shadow; nevertheless

a commanding view to those who were to come. 

 

Horizons emerged,

forests of tall trees came and went

taking their hostages with them,

under the churn and the slow creep of time. 

 

Foraging folk finally settled, bred,

found flints; in the  caves where ideas flickered

during the long nights of dreams

the old Gods clung on. 

 

In 1998, my mother admired the view.

"I love the wide open skies here," she said,

being by birth and by nature a Londoner

and not concerned with geology.