Walking Down Winding Lanes

Walking down winding lanes,
or amongst mazes of bracken and gorse,
leading horse or youth,
There is more time to feel – to sense..

At times I remember,
to breathe more deeply,
Or watch the wind moving,
the branches above,
it is as if,
if I watch closely enough,
the answers are whispered..

I wonder if you’re watching me..

This land’s child,
of Red or Doe or Fallow,
lost antler you gave me,
thank you for the gift..

these young’uns somehow lost,
yet beautiful and shining.
feeling… growing so much,
like us all – in a strange world,
devoid of tribe,
ritual or stillness..

The deer that runs,
despite wide-soft gaze..

I must be better,
like the Oak,
under which they may rest,
Deep rooted – secure in self,
with long branches to sway,
to feel,
to shelter..

So much to learn,
so much – already known..

The deer watches me a while,
a happiness I should know more,
with a turn of a head,
a flick of a hoof,
the running deer,
into columns of Larch and fir…


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