Brittany: an August afternoon

I walked along dappled lanes,

Deep between root-strung banks of dry layered clay.

The path was overhung with oak and beech,

With holy bush and elder,

With ivy and burdock and bramble.

Strands of summer mottled the air around me.


At my feet, as I walked,

Old dressed stone

Betrayed a thousand year history.

It was an old track now overlaid with dry leaves.

Sunlight dappled the path.

Petals of light danced on the ground ahead of me,

Spread through the shade of the canopy of overhung

And summered branches.


© David Burrows

23 August 2014

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