Our path took us down the southern slopes of the Eildon Hills -
On the hilltop, we'd seen the shadows of clouds pass over the ancient land - a cold wind had blown against our faces -
Now we walked through a deep wood - the air was still and warm - the broad path was spangled with bright sunlight -
Noble beech trees had seen many winters - they rose up from the sweet earth towards heaven -
Birds sang in the shining greenery -
I thought of the wildwood, and how it might return, quietening the cities, quickening legends -
We would lay our heads to sleep upon fallen leaves, dream the dreams of trees -
Thursday July 2 2015
Southern slopes of the Eildon Hills
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