Train Journey in Winter.
Devon's red earth muted by winter light to a pale russet.
Farms and barns are folded into the undulating land
while deer stand peaceful under the denuded dripping trees.
Meditating on the end of dormant winter
their soft eyes gaze far into the distancce
and the rushing train leaves them behind.
Forlorn dull leaves cling pointlesly to sleeping trees,
a buzzard perches on a naked branch,his eyes sharp as scissors.
Churches,those ancient sentinels,sit solidly on higher ground,
begging for forgiveness their leaden crosses reach upward.
In never ending supplication, they stand
flagellated by wind and rain and neglect.
Beside the sea so close to crashing waves,the train speeds forward.
Daring the wild ocean to interfere with its destination,Paddington at three.
Along the strand a woman strides wrapped in a green cloak,her red hair free.
Miraculously our yes meet, I raise my hand and wave and so does she.
We try to hold eachothers gaze but the moment passess.
I strain my neck to watch as wind and spray turn the red hair to seaweed
Copy right Angela Bell 2018
I found some notes I had made on my last winter trip to see mum and the muse took over.Hope you like it.It is true !
I found some notes I had made on my last winter trip to see mum and the muse took over.Hope you like it.It is true !
