by Andrew Taylor
There is no need for a torch
the whiteness of the fields
allows the eye to settle
spot the amber lights of the horizon
through the swirling snow
Quite what I’m doing here is almost a mystery
walking through the fields to the church
on a Winter’s eve
Almost medieval this weather though
the glow of the pub enticing in its simplicity
offers a heightened sense of modernity
Returning past the former houses
of friends long gone
a hint of wood smoke allows
for the collection of memories that evaporate
through the iced tips of hedgerows