Category: Fiction

Written 29/09/2017. Photo credit Lee McGrath. In the Tintern valley,cut into the very side of thoserolling hills,there is a dark hole.Neatly bordered on its rounded edgeswith weathered grey bricks,the arch beckons,as if begging one to walk within. I stand on the half-rememberedghost of a railway track,my feet upon its broad plank,and I stare.The sun beams greyly…

Written 28/09/2017. Go to the woods in late spring.Follow your noseand stand admist that great, green carpet.Take into your lungsand nose and mouththat cloud of cleansing comfort. Feel the garlic hazeso strong it might well sting your eyesand smilebecause it means you are alive. (Pick a half a dozen leaves.Take them home.Eat what is offered…

Written 28/09/2017. If you walk past the bandstand,with its too-white paintand curling iron detail,an island on a manicured lawn,you might take the riverside path. Past the old inn,the pubs, the tapas bar,and the overfull car parkin miniature. It drops down to the very edgeof the water,lapping at the path’s sideat high tideand leaving the trodden…

Written 27/09/2017.For Terry C.R. Evans, 1937–2007. It is at times like theseI am reminded of my grandfather’s greenhouse. Stepping over the thresholdand feeling the warmth,Feeling the sun filter intothat cramped, glass room — if there was sun, that is.And if there was light(There almost never was.)It came through the remnants of vinestill atop the roof, The lingering evidence ofthe…