A walk along the Ridgeway
and up to Barbury Castle in Wiltshire.
In fields of wheat a promise growing,
waiting quietly etched on landscape
between those meadows poised;
delicate colours sweeping breezes,
long after dew leaves early freshness;
feeling drops of summer rain that lingers.
Up on ridge of isolation, quietness simmers;
tracing many individual footsteps taken,
hearing only sound of buzzing...notably
awaking those scattering spores, that brush
free through air releasing nature's pollen.
Attention for now not scattered,
but focused on climbing up where
stillness of view lies undemanding,
awaiting trace ambiance to
long past commemoration,
stirring breathless boundaries
of Castle's history;
sleeping ditches once beat rapidly,
pulsing land where overgrown hidden
recollections pale over time.
Did sentient families once with determined strength,
strive accompanied by handmade tools, issue crops to
emanate? Hoping moon would guide the way when
peeping from behind dark clouds, up here where ground
is steeped in timeless wonder, only dead now really understand.