The land was alive today.
Or maybe it was me.
Aligned as earth’s energy sang its December song.
A walk around the apple orchards.
Bare winter trees offering their branches skywards.
An ancient landscape with vast oaks silhouetted against bright cold air.
Outstretched and stark against a silver, milk-white sky.
A curve in the road, up a tree lined hill.
What mystery and stories lie up those little lanes?
Stone, Ebony, Wittersham, Iden. Names are like charms.
Moss on a tree trunk and wall.
A brave pink rosebud against a weathered red brick wall.
Yule lights shine out from depths of interiors.
No wind or rain.
Church bells chime a perfect note.
On the threshold.
A liminal space
Between the years.