Hello my friend;
it’s been too long. . .

like I’ve been holding my breath underwater
and am breathing
for the first time.

I’ve changed
you haven’t,

still as Peter Pan like
as ever.


emerald green land
garnished with rocks.

Clouds above as granite grey
as the tors beneath them
a witches’ cauldron; spitting

bubbling, angrily

until it erupts
with summer rain
warm, wet

hurling from the sky
as if thrown by thunder himself.

The whole landscape shudders
expecting the sudden monsoon
over as quickly as it started;
tussocks and hills shaking their backs
like wet dogs.

Imagine pixies frolicking
amongst cotton grass,
a carpet of snow
warning of peaty bogs.

They ride sheep, jinxing them
so they stand, obstinately
in the middle of roads
just as cars want to pass.

Stubbornly standing
reproachfully staring, fixedly
with greasy grey eyes.

Lichen and moss on gnarled branches
trees stunted growth,
their only weapon to the relentless
howling wind

habit dwarf and wizened
like the hunched backs of wizards
frozen in a natural form.

This is where my heart starts
and will stop

who knows where it will lie in between. . .

There’s satisfaction in knowing
the unknown,

and seeing beauty
in the familiar,

it’s the glory
of my homeland.