Little Mountain where once we got lost* (wrong path curves far, as we found to our cost) amongst dead bracken with a blue dome sky glimpsing far down...
School absence, home presence – what a noise from a little boy’s questions and chatter and ‘what is the matter with my head and my tum, Mum?’ School presence, home absence –
He gave them bread to eat to symbolise … The cup of wine he shared to symbolise …These emblems we partake should help remember him – proclaiming thus his death until he comes again, as King.
This world is very weary with germs … pain, pride, greed… But, if we find a new world, well, will it be just right … And what will we export there if some of us fly in? …
Delicate wild daffodils scattered on the woodland floor … With the onward march of March more buds grow and swell, unpeel, sunbeams falling through bare trees a lemon host reveal.