Bare morning light. Iron smooth water. Suddenly, a fish breaks the surface.
Flower beds, climbing beans, cabbages, crisp and clean, the narrow ditch where nettles sting. Snail tracks glisten like silver threads on the pile of stones at the garden end. On hands and knees I hold my breath, gaze through the gap in the hawthorn hedge, to the meadow, where white horses tread. And everywhere I look, is … More The Hawthorn Hedge