The path down to the sea was half hidden by fallen leaves -
They're Sycamore and Maple Penelope said -
She picked up a leaf from the path, tracing its marvellous shape with her forefinger - the leaf was a pale yellowy gold -
An avenue of near leafless trees was bathed in December sunlight -
The arboretum had long been left to nature - no gardeners, clad in corduroy, carried billhooks or coppiced hazel -
Only ghosts lingered by the ornamental ponds, green now with algae -
We walked past drifts of bamboo - a noble fir brushed heaven -
Bright water ran over pebbles in a stream bed -
We heard a pheasant screeching in a covert -
On the beach, Penelope showed me a white shell -
Waves broke upon the shingle - the air smelled of the sea and moon -
12.00
Friday 4 December 2015
Ringstead
Dorset
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