Away from the flowered fields,
\nwooden gate, the path.
\nBordered by thick gorse,
\nboggy underfoot.<\/p>\n
This is the way there.
\nI lived here once,
\nmy daily dog walk.
\nJake, the big soft old sod.<\/p>\n
Now, I stop when I can.
\ntinged with sadness, bereft.
\nYears between visits.
\nmy sacred stopping place.<\/p>\n
The path, remembered roots,
\nshort but blessed.
\nWind picks up, you reach the top.
\nSquare rock, carved for me.<\/p>\n
Shelter there, out of the wind
\nsit in this soft grass, call the dead dog,
\nJake, and sit in silence.
\nTogether, unspoken, unshared thoughts.<\/p>\n
From here you can see,
\nand hear
\nthe song of the sea.
\nColoured from black to gold,
\nand shades of blue in-between.<\/p>\n
The perfect house, left.
\nCarn Boel far right.
\nThe bay between,
\nthe endless sky.<\/p>\n
Lighthouse on the horizon, blinks
\nThere is a magic here, a dreaming.
\nI\u2019ve sat here hours, walking people pass.
\nHearing their tales, awaiting clarity.<\/p>\n
What I get from this I do not know,
\nthough it’s importance remains.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Away from the flowered fields, wooden gate, the path. Bordered by thick gorse, boggy underfoot. This is the way there. I lived here once, my daily dog walk. Jake, the big soft old sod. Now, I stop when I can. … Continue reading