October 2019

When my father was alive

Sixty years on, the trainsstill run at the bottom of my garden. I return, expecting to seeuprooted rails, something for walkers,a crazed cycle path,but I hear the train, and I seethe track, though the meadows it ran throughhave been shaved…

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Travelling back through the centuriespast standing stonesand hollow hungry mounds,we arrive at Yesnaby,¬†where cliffs and castlesfall into the sea,¬† waves crash recklessly ineating away at what is unseen,giving us no warningthat soon we will be crashing toostruck down by a…

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