Frosted fields, like giant sheets of grey-green watercolour paper dusted with icing sugar. Longer grassy tufts, stalks steely rising, catch the low skying eastern sun. Dark hedge shadows, like thick black inked cartographer’s pen, draw captive taking boundaries.
Close white clouds hang over misting chimneys from still water-flooded lowland while darker distant greys announce the pressing storm. In their midlands, a rainbow paints the landscape with finger clasping forest beech and hazel. “To us”, they beckon. “Paint us with your tender-textured hues, renew our drab, dampened branches with your primal palette.”
Sam McKeon
22nd October 2017
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