^ Our Trusty Tourist Map (about 30 years out of date) ^
^ Day 1 - Day 4 ^
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Tag Archives: Somerset
02/04/08, A Castle in Tangled Wood.
^Cover up^
^In the beginning was the word^
^...and the word was good.^
As I write this the cold of fading day is creeping in
to take the place of the soon departed sun.
I am bound by my writing arm to Caitriona
who is bound to me by hers – through a loop of
bungee hooked into the green army poncho
acting as an extra layer of warmth
around our shoulders
and down our backs.
We are sitting in the roof-rampart of a
part-derelict part-restored gate-house-castle
that extends from its lower part in an arch
over the footpath we were ascending
as we saw it.
I have to fight off a touch of OCD
brought on by the magic of the place
making every little action on our parts
part of a quest for perfection.
Unseen
Intuitive
Etiquette
We each give a gift wrapped in home-grown tobacco:
me burying a parcel of dark chocolate
(sniffing it three times between our noses
filling our heads & our lungs with its food)
in the earth
(the leaf litter of countless
seasons as the trees
around us grew)
while she twirls tearing pieces then releases
to the wind.
Two Owls occasionally answer each other
from distant perches
in the woods.
*
01/04/08, April Fools.
^April Fools^
Caitriona’s voice:
Laughing-cries to say goodbye to familiar faces
my space in the mirror; long train rides
no longer knowing where the stops are coming.
Heavy backs draw questions, the following surprise
makes belly-butterflies run and hide.Land into blasts. Tired eyes
from too much feared and fairy-grounded sleeping
suddenly open wide, this is a place
where seafronts bend their eves
like any windswept tree.Hands clasped we tumble into funward ho!
A zigzag crisscrossed by man-handled sheep slides
up this towny-prize mountainside. My moonbled eyes
admit astonishment (shy flash of defeat admit!)
as weary legs stretch, crunching up to search
for the elusive summit.With limping feet, my heels demand
a broken shuffle to appease the pressure,
caught in the cool fast breeze I sea the seeing,
serenaded by the pines I drown my eyes
in the sea-filled sky this gifted climb.Wear my whole body inside -
my outsides are freezing.On hillside of birch-babies
trying to thrive
we found
they framed
an invisible curtain
to rest our first night in.Cold toes,
rain moans,
tent holds,
wind blows..
*
Posted in A Strange Pilgrimage Also tagged Drawing, Poetry, Southwest Coast Path, Walking Leave a comment