Part 7

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.

 

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