The Black cottage on the White road

A tender time in sleepy woodland, the cottage stone and wood, chimney breathing,

A stroll into the setting sun, as if by magic word bade me to stay. Familiar hills in twilight acres, love mists caressing the English beauty, shy of itself.

The ‘I’ in ‘me’ fallen free of ego and human chains for a short moment, sun blessed.

Soon no doubt I will not remember, I will be gone to nothing, will the shadow of the Almighty stop me from forgetting?

The way to the woodland path has gone, the black cottage on the white road is like it never was, except, dark frost on a memories mood lightens it into being, like a Brigadoon, and I know it again, oh so well, yes so well!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.