GRASS in the MIDDLE

for JPW

Nothing like it!

That marvellous, slow returning to earth

of pristine tracks and pathways

wearing down the mechanics of Man -

the insidious erosion of wheels, in space, with time.

Enabling primordial liveness to sprout through tar’n cement

inch by cell by moment:

imperceptable, intransigent.

Each 10 lane highway along with every motorized network

planet-wide, 

extending to rivers and sea-ways too,

grew from archaic feet and intention

with their migrating, trading,

survival instincts and curiosity

 - before they thought of empires, industry and factory farms.

Above the tree-line, deep in rampant bracken, only

inhabited by mountain sheep:

 sometimes with wild ponies

 or modern upland aurochs,

along with fox and badger,

the kestrel and kite.

Passing over cattle grids, through leaning gateways, into these highland wilds

• there goes the olden way,

en route for untold distances;

hearts sing with the lark,

high in the sky

whilst the valleys far below, float in misty, celtic mystery.

Those are borning places,

the interfacing hinterlands where old and new merge 

and time stands still.