The winding road I walk wanders through country hedges stuffed full of brambles and bomb-weed across hay meadows to where gauze mist veils distant hills. Rust red cows huddle by a gate tails swishing away flies and rooks shout from their rookery hurling bird banter from tall tree to tall tree. Later the Sun will lower down to the west shadows will merge and meld owls will hunt. But now rabbits nibble in golden light and a peace settles deep inside. Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond The weird font is due to my struggles with the new block editor.