Wide track striped white across high grass
draped in silence, excepting faint bird calls.
Wedged between high ground and rolling plain,
edged and encrusted with time’s memorials,
entrances to unremembered dead amid pasture land
and we walkers.
The old earthworks cannot speak,
but they glow in my mind, calling.
If space and time are multidimensional,
could we not walk another way round
sidle through and back.
Meet the neighbours.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond