Saturday, January 28, 2006


Neither night nor day,
I walked in the grey light listening to the scold of blackbirdand the raucous pheasants cursing silence.

Neither wet nor dry,
I lay in a damp crackle of brown bracken,
watching the heath slope down a dark valley
to a glistening bog and the black frizz of winter wood beyond.

I was a child here once
nurtured in the solace of this loneliness and peace,
watching the night creep like ink between the clumps of gorse
and shivering at the shadow of the infinite;

neither afraid nor wholly comfortable.

(c) A McN


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