THE SHOT

Posted by Admin on Sunday, 1st June 2008, 00:00

The light was soft that afternoon,
with distance as hazy as half-forgotten
dreams – inchoatively vague as thoughts
of heaven.
Behind the fusing sea and sky,
the forest, lost to sight, relinquished
its former pull.
The cattle – toys from Noah’s Arks –
were scattered over rising ground
and seen gauze-veiled – part pattern in
neglected chiaroscuro.
A trick of fancy brought to mind
the stalwart Ridd, sequestered
by Exmoor streams some eighty
miles hence; and yearnings prompted a
return to Blackmore – nagged me
with nostalgia for the West –
those guide-book-boosted shires
whose full potential never quite was mine.
’Twas then a shot brought drama to
the scene – made startled horses swerve,
and hushed the birds.
A black retriever, bursting into view,
discovered there is no prize to mouth and take
in servitude to guns the hawthorn screened.
My efforts, too, to piece the riven mood
were equally in vain.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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