Drifting clouds

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Drifting clouds


Small feet follow the secret paths,

Paths that lead to adventure’s,

played through the scrub and trees.

In the small glen where freedom was everywhere.

The secret tree hut, watch tower.

Shelter from the enemies that pursued me.

A place to see the wildlife

which the imagination transformed into monsters.

To lie in the fallen leaves and watch the clouds.

Faces and being’s formed in their shapes.

Drifting by where time mattered not.

A stick , a magic wand.

Bird song a code only I could know.

Know which plants to eat.

Berries that were sweet.

Secrets I would keep.

The dead forest, the swamp land.

Newts and frogs lived there.

Witch’s, swamp monsters kept watch’

Not a place to linger.

To know where the Sparrow hawk nested,

Sit beside the rabbit’s in the wild.

See the Hare  play on the open hill.

Mice scurry around the dry stone wall.

Today I sit an older man’

Memories drift like clouds.

Wild berries in my hand.

Birds speak and I understand.

GeorgeMcNeill

07/05/2018

Photo: The Mourne Mountians, rain clouds passing.


	

326/365 Shutter release challenge

Lough mist

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I’m lucky that where I live has a large number of these small loughs. The cool nights brings lovely morning mists over the loughs. Here we have the last of the mist has it gets burned off by the sun. I love down by the loughs with the wildlife and birds calling and rumbling around the undergrowth. Just to sit and watch the landscape as it gets painted has the mist lifts, its priceless. At this lough the hill in the photo is topped with a fairy fort, a circle of trees.

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