Under Glynde's grey turbine I know I am irrelevant It is as if my chest's creaks are now unsure ship timbers set grinding by lifts and turns of blown low pressures Her blades swoon over us in that signature revolution She asks of me a greater effort to stand for any time in her shadow … Continue reading Farming Today
I am entertained inside her lento lungs - travelling alone and partly dusk-blind - within her low suck of cooling breath .../
We stick to the leaf-kicked route - a parting of the dry sea of leaves cleared by dog-following boots .../
This dessicated path is an off-white scar under the moon's phase of waxing gibbous .../
I sat with care on a wide sawn stump, it cut back by an oxidised blade..