Monday, 4 August 2008
A few days in the Forest of Dean.
We went walking in the sun-warmed forest, where recent rain had touched the leaves with watery jewels.
Drifting through the trees were pots of golden sunlight, stirred by misty fingers holding spot -lights for the dancing butterflies.
Here and there, woody stumps were wearing their caps of mossy stars and holding deep within, the memory of yesterday’s giants.
The scented earth cushioned our steps and taught us not to trespass on the silence. . . .
Copyright Annette Emms August 4th. 2008