in a quiet hollow on the far side of this field

rain patters through the leaves

like twinkling glass; white sky

snow globe dome. a thousand translucent

serpents of smoke, charmed by wind’s invisible hand,

curl upwards from the chimneys at the wood’s edge.

archaeologist – the mud of the path is wet,

the grey stones shards of bone:

fragments, cold and clear.

I crouch, a child by a rock pool,

to see branches reflected in a puddle.

spider-web, wind-whisper, opalescent:

tracing silver snail slithers with my finger

over white cathedrals; the fat bulbs

of mushroom caps, pale fossils

by my feet. I walk a hundred years forward

and another hundred years back.

Illustration by Charlotte Bunney.

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