Escape


Escape

That row of gold on the Met Office app was an irresistible invitation
Here’s your bus fare to escape the city
Boots, rucksack, walking poles, map
It’s been far too long, let’s go go go

The thrill of playing hooky from the stress of last year
Walking familiar paths, but always something new to see
Climbing to the top of Maes Knoll, I’m the king of the castle
Brilliant blue bowl of sky, breathtaking
I may have whooped a little

When my daughter was young she told me she took pictures with her eyes
Today I take her advice and store up the snapshots
Inky crows scribbled against bare branches
Long tailed tits flitting
Such richness of blue, all the blue words needed
Cerulean, azure, sapphire
Dazzling me and filling me up

After that high point falling into a satisfying rhythm
My boots hitting the ground
Nothing else for me to do but move forward

Poem written on 17 November 2025 after taking the 376 Mendip Explorer bus from Bristol Temple Meads to Whitchurch. So many options for walks along this route, and a great way of accessing the countryside if you don't have a car (I don't). Maes Knoll is the remains of an iron age fort, thought to have been constructed around 250 BCE. At my women's group on Monday evening I discovered that there are a group of artists who define themselves as walking artists, with walking being a key part of their creative practice. I definitely want to find out more about this!


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Adventures in Metaphor

Image
When she was five years old and in her first year of primary school, my daughter approached me one day with something to show me. I looked down into the plastic box held clutched in her small hands, lined with scraps of greenery from the garden, a few pebbles, and nestling in this tiny habitat, three, no four, glistening bodies. Slugs. Oh. I swallowed down my revulsion, like many gardeners I find slugs difficult to love and appreciate. “It’s a slug sanctuary!” she informs me proudly, and adds that she wants to take it to show Miss F, her beloved reception teacher. Fighting every impulse I agree, because of course I believe in supporting my children’s interests, don’t I? Later in the year I attend my daughter’s first parents evening. As I come into the classroom and fold my long legs onto a too small chair Miss F says with a laugh “Well, what do we say about V? She’s…” she glances at her teaching assistant seated beside her, there is a pause and they both reply in unison “Quirky!”. “She...
Read more

An Unexpected Visitor

Image
My husband WhatsApped me whilst I was walking home from a friend's house on Saturday afternoon with the startling news that a sparrowhawk had taken down a pigeon in our garden. A photo showed the bird of prey standing on the feathery corpse. His message underneath read “pigeon not dead yet” and then almost immediately another “it's dead”. I rushed to the back window to join him as soon as I arrived home. Feathers everywhere, a splash of startlingly red blood on the concrete flags. Pomegranate juice. The Sparrowhawk eagerly pulling on the white sinewy strap that must have been the spinal column. Efficiently plucking to access the flesh below. The pigeon's head wobbled as she tugged.  My daughter joined us to watch, providing useful facts from Google and from a new friend at school who is “really into birds”. She tells us the Sparrowhawk is a young female, as you can tell by the markings, particularly around the eyes. Red markings around the eyes means older and these eyes ar...
Read more