This is old forest land.
There is no forest here any longer.
On the scars that are roads
All things blur at speed.
In the houses that were hollows
On the hills between nature’s majesties
Life is hollow, white plaster echoes
Where greenery was, and Goethe’s
Summits of oak and ash and fir.
This is not even the semblance
Of a wood, not one hundred acres,
Not one acre, not one square inch,
Between the bungalows of pride
And their paved drives and flooding
R 24/04/2023 20:08
I should be plugging Aggie’s Art Of Happiness. There, done it. Once the paperback is out, and I can despatch signed copies, I’ll be doing it much more, trust me. And I’m on the radio on Thursday plugging it (and Expectation, Marina Florance’s new album, for which I wrote the title track lyrics and lyrics for 3 other songs). I had coffee with Marina today, and her lovely husband, both of them such a joy.