The wind trumpets heavily, as if the bull's
triumphant bellow was rising from the lake.
Did time grow light? A leaf blown from my hands,
or moonlit ripples splashed from the silver stream.
Yesterday my son ran round this ancient ground.
It whispers. "There is only this."
Now who do we credit that little beauty to!triumphant bellow was rising from the lake.
Did time grow light? A leaf blown from my hands,
or moonlit ripples splashed from the silver stream.
Yesterday my son ran round this ancient ground.
It whispers. "There is only this."
I remember several years ago walking along the Winterbourne path with a friend towards Silbury. It was in the afternoon of the autumn equinox and we stopped for a moment in sight of Silbury to set down a little gift in the grass. As we stood there the still air picked up into a breeze that whistled through our hair and then was gone again as quickly as it had come. And time did grow light...
