One day in the Vale, long gone

One harvest day

Or one of many

When a few wild acres are a universe

Walking in the furrows

Stooped in the rough, warm soil

We feel the heft of the earth

Thick and deep with rich aroma

Emptiness vast but intimate

Rusting beasts doze in the long grass

Steeped in oil and years of mud

Tall poplars sway upon the fringe

A curtain on forgotten England

We plough on as Sunday’s eyes grow heavy

And bleak yellow fades through the hedgerow

Yet glows inside while evening falls

Later, huddled around the farmer’s table

The ancient feast electric-bathed

A lone tree hangs, bare and windswept, in a frame

Whilst beyond these rustic walls

Just outside the family chatter

The whisper of the land still lingers

One Autumn day

One harvest day, long gone

The breath of fields

Across the Vale