I'd crossed a stone bridge over still water - a small lake reflected leafless trees -
Earlier I'd driven past the long sinister reef of Maiden Castle - I remembered walking upon the sharp ramparts overlooking the narrow valley -
I thought of John Cowper Powys and of his brother Lleweyn, wearing his green coat -
I walked into the silent park - horses grazed in bright fields - wild garlic scented the air - there was a walled garden -
A winding path led me to the church - slender angels stood in the windows - their wings cast glowing spangles of light upon the altar steps -
Two gentle figures lay upon a tomb chest, their hands clasped in prayer - a winged young woman, arms outstretched, danced amidst ornate foliage -
I read the long memorial of the colonel who had witnessed the retreat of the French from Moscow -
Four people came into the church, all older than me, carrying walking sticks - one of them told me - a vicar here knew Thomas Hardy -
Snowdrops grew in the churchyard - mossy tombs listed into the grass -
A noble house overlooked the church - I glimpsed its austere shape through dark trees -
12.00
February 7 2015
St Peter's Church
Came Park
Winterbourne Came
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