What a week! Or perhaps 10 days.
A Rural View
Sheep shorn. Votes Cast. Counting begun. Forecasts made. Pound soars. Sleep.
New day. Brexit bombshell. Cameron abdicates. Markets crash. Pound Slumps.
Divided Nation. Media meltdown. Hysterical Gloom. National Crisis.
Were we deranged?
Metropolitan despair? Rural relief?
England poleaxed Icelandically.
Wales dragonised Belgium.
Corbyn cabinet capitulated.
Boris bandwagon derailed.
May, Eagle. Rise? Fox and Crab.
Eadsom? Gone or Gove?
A New Political Farrage.
We’re here. Because we’re here.
100 years on. (Click)
From July 1st.
On the Somme.
Not in Lille.
Young men delirious,
Right place, wrong time?
Excitement as a second Orchid
And is spotted. Seen. Loved, in Wales, on a hill.
The peat fuelled purple field fades,
Velvet, bent. Tufted, hair. Fog.
Painterly plant patinas. Sensuously swaying. Breezily bright.
The Himalayan Musk bleeds,
pale skeletal white.
Has history been made?
Have minds gone mad?
Murderous mayhem forgotten with centuries’ passing.
The Ivy-leaved Bell flower and Bog Pimpernel sneak into bloom amongst soggy moss, sedate Valerian, Tormentil and Spearwort aured splendour.