There is a road – it can’t be seen from where I’m sat but I know it is there.
I can see the break in the trees.
If I work hard I can picture two millennia of travellers making their way along the path
Through the break in the trees.
In other circumstances it might have been a river but it is not, although there is a lake
Surrounded by trees.
The countryside is green now – it is the middle of June and it has been a particularly wet spring.
The trees too are green,
Enjoying their short burst of growth before the colours change and fade
And the trees grow stoic.
But for now they are in full leaf and the cars race by on their way somewhere else and oblivious to the fact
That the trees are there, always.
They line the horizon, wet, wind-brushed and painted and make me pause and think because of
The break in the trees.