Swooping and spiralling across the sky,
the bells ring out loudly across the hills
from the spire of the sandstone church
hiding deep in the beech wood forest – a
few meters from the cliff’s edge. Crumbling
into the ravenous seas below. I race
to find it. We’re just following the sounds.
We stumble through thick heather thickets.
Run fingers across rough fir bark.
The smell of sweet summer sap calling us,
leading us further into the forest.
Leaping over felled trunk and scrambling
over mossy rocks. But I see it, the dry
stone walls keeping the forest at bay, for now.