14th September 2021…
‘On such a day as this two fools who laughed at death
embarked upon the adventure of a lifetime…’
…Today, the adventure is all but over
with just a sealing of fire
and water, inevitably, and air, and earth still to accomplish…
‘Stones for the earth,’ he said.
Comparisons with our first trip here together are unavoidable.
Dragon Hill looms equally unexpectedly,
and is also just as gracefully, ‘unoccupied’.
Had we known then what we now know
would things have been different?
‘About the hilt of Albion’s sword…’
Small wonder then that it is difficult not to
lose balance when approaching this point.
Think what could have been done.
And still can…
The ash shadows the grooves of the manger.
mirrored in staccato billowing…
‘Deep Breaths of the Fire-Drake.’
Obeisance turns brackish.
A raking cough greets us from the ‘forge’.
Manifest irony or iron-age humour?
Our grinning Jester emerges from the copse
with dancing dog in tow.
If more magic were required…
What once held no faces now holds hosts.
‘I’ve made a circle with the stones.’
A web-of-light where once the heat-haze rose…
The manure mounds become
a million hubs of cobbled-corn.
No birds to speak of,
only flying rabbits…
hopping bad, and a rare hare.
No fare at an Inn which had previously provided the finest…
The Greyhound, though, ‘salved’ the day.
‘It’s got lights on and everything!’
With an over abundance of those things most needful,
and, incredibly, Red-Kite Ale…
But what a tale!
Of shooting stars,
and ‘Old Skool’ bars.
Of skirt tails and hair trails,
to tell in the slow, slow, dawns of mourning…
Sue would have been sixty-three years old today,
‘Now, she is everywhere.’
Sue, and beloved Ani, at one of her favourite haunts – Photograph courtesy Alethea Kehas
The adventure, continues…
Weland-the-Smith with Swan-Maiden
In the Land of the Living Heart
Brig and Weland Mind-Weld are playing fidchell…
Brig: Wen to Blakey-Topping.
Weland: She’ll never get there.
Brig: But I have a poem for her.
Weland: Which she will never receive.
A mist on Blakey-Topping.
A mist of mists on the Old-Wives-Way…
… BRIG’S LAY
Lay me down beneath an Iron Sky
In the centred stillness of a Dragon-Eye
And let sweet-odorous heather be my pall
On a speaking hill where angel-feathers fall
With earth beneath my skin and sky above
I shall await, in silence, the descent of love…
Heart of Albion
Heart of Albion – Stuart France & Sue Vincent