On Sunday we drove off in search of birds at the Nature Reserve - a spit of land sticking out into the estuary at Dawlish Warren. We lost our way, and in the end stopped and took a path up a steep hill into the woods nearby instead...passing this wind turbine - its sails locked in stillness.
We found this abandoned rusty trunk, divided into mystery compartments, now blocked up with old beer cans and plastic bottles, sitting on a bed of crushed leaves - the stories of its travels lost forever....forever untold.
The path was lined with birch trees - some of them weeping glassy black resin from gnarled knots - sticky open wounds.
The view from the top of the hill,
and the sun weak as moonlight filtering briefly through the naked forest.
The sky tonight outside my window,
makes me happy for its brief radiant lifetime.
In our talking today these are some of the words which have been swallowed up and lost to my husband - rusted beyond recognition into one of the unfathomable compartments of his brain....
garage
furniture
residential
naval base.
No comments:
Post a Comment