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St Bueno’s

August 26, 2015

2015-08-23 19.00.13

This coastal path, tipping often into
hair-pin turns, dips through primal
twisted oaks; witnesses life on the edge.

Grey in the dim afternoon, through summer
rain that doesn’t dampen us, the way tends
naturally, to St Bueno’s, crooked in a dark

elbow where stream and footfall imprint
history. Here, Saxon breath and Norman
sinew knit a weave of families in coracle

curve – the clan of Red, grittily supreme;
churchyard memoranda to tenacity. Damp
lichen patina on grave stones tolls lives

in this half light. We hear them, glimpse
their days with our poor resources; this dell
chill even in August, giant rhubarb basking

in its mammoth glory. From the lepers’
window, the mist of centuries is upon us –
fingers twine ours through the gloaming.

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2 Comments
  1. Brilliantly evocative – love it!

    • Cheers Paul – it was a stunning walk and an extraordinary old church. There was no resisting the need to write….

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