The Old Style

Didn't go far today. The old style near the pond, my favourite get-a-way spot. Always peaceful. The polo ponies [which make the tracks on the right] are almost all gone back to work, so not even a curious friendly face coming to poke a nose in today.

This is actually from a Christmas poem by George Mackay Brown, the Orkney poet, but I like the succinct metaphor of a life. We saw ploughs, daffs, and sunshine on the way, and this hill is a green fable in itself. Bit early for the oats and barley, let alone the harvest home ....

We are folded all
In a green fable
And we fare
From early
Plough-and-daffodil sun
Through revel
Of wind-tossed oats and barley
Past sickle and flail
To harvest home