#woolhampton

July 15, 2014

There is a path in Berkshire, just a small piece of path near Woolhampton that has the attributes of a lost path, and it is beautiful. Firstly, it slopes downwards in an inviting sort of way and on one side there is a hedge overgrown, dark green, that hides the path from the road and passers-by and then on the other side of the path the wild grass, yellow, is so overgrown and billowy that there is now only a track in the centre for one person to walk. There are old leaves either side of the path as no one has been by to sweep or move them since last autumn when they fell there, there is an air of forgotten-ness, which is good. Why do we not see that it is a positive good to be forgotten. There is safety in being forgotten (as in when the Vandals and Goths sacked Roman cities but left the rural areas forgotten.) Is it not true today as well?

There are nettles and goose grass to play with and some dried sorrel that crumbles in your hand. In the hedge there is an elm tree, shaggy and sage. The sound by the path is the buzzing of bees and insects: the slow buzz of a hot day. The ivy is plentiful and makes a border for the path. The flowers are many: Queen Anne’s Lace, flowering blackberry brambles, thistles, pink wayside flowers, all hidden from the crossroads at the top of the path, where one can go nowhere or to the village.

BUTTERFLIES GRASS

This is where the butterflies live.

I remember now,

Down the road to Bucklebury,

Turn right, between fields

And there on a foot path

Overgrown with blackberry brambles,

Nettles, grasses and sorrel,

The butterflies fly at peace

Over my head

And the bees take all summer

To do their work

On meadowsweet and bramble blossom.

Millionaire’s houses sit nearby,

But the bees like their dinner

And silence rings loud,

Irrespective of the

Work world side neighbours.

ON THE ROAD IN-BETWEEN

There’s a road between home and work,

Beside a lake,

Two brooks run by,

Cold days the puddles freeze

And warm days

The dirt sweats.

The road in-between

Is where things happen.

Do you have

A road in between

In your life?

DIRT TRACK HOME

There’s right downtown

And there’s the end of the track,

But don’t hand me the spot

In the suburbs

Where I sell my soul

For a piece of dubious

Self respect.

Last two poems from CANADA LIMINAL by Lynne Pearl, available here through Amazon. See www.snellplublishers.com for other titles and free downloads.

Painting by Exeter artist Catherine Whitehead