There is no sweeter place in Spring than the heather field
The scent is so rich it can overpower, whilst after rain, the earthy heaviness is grounding
From a distance the pink and green call you over, then close up
The detail will captivate and the buds will oblige you by the hand full
This is where the heather field and I part.
You cannot make it your own. To pull a root will weary you
To enter the field without a sense of navigation, or earlier knowledge
Will cause you to flounder, emerging ankle sore or worse
To contemplate the journey however, is not folly.
Others do and you see them there all the time. They won’t listen, why should they,
To do so would betray adventure and experience is all,
And it will always be all, since the heather was seeded
I overheard this.
“Every man she’s ever been with has hit her
this latest hasn’t , he said he’s never wanted to hit anyone in his life
but he’s been close to hitting her though”.