Brave Old World

It came good, the weather, by the afternoon. 
A thick weight of sun arrives, lies on willing shoulders; glints and heats and drapes like chain mail. In the wood shade it is cooler and dangerous. In search of skin are the bites of sharp insects: thorns, faery tale thick; nettles, the height of men, bristling with stings.
The bluebells are in retreat. Campions pattern in their stead: pink petal polka dotted in the deep green. Hedges have edges of meadowsweet frill. Dragonflies are dark sparks over the bright river.
Every step is worth the peril.


I truly love the way you write. Your words are lyrical and evoke strong images.
Lisa Southard said…
Very happy to read your appreciation Susan :-) I find your writing blooms with great kindness and humour, looking forward to reading your book! xx

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