On the Way to the Black Rabbit, Arundel

Sunday we had lunch at The Black Rabbit in Arundel.

Just before you get to the pub there is a house that appears to be growing out of a wall of rock and trees... and this post box. I always stop to look for a moment at this lonely house and rather crooked post box and wonder at the lives it has known. Today, we arrived after a rather intense rain storm. Everything was wet and bright against the dark sky. So I took a picture.

I was reminded of this poem by Amy Lowell:

The Letter by Amy Lowell

Little cramped words scrawling all over the paper
Like draggled fly's legs,
What can you tell of the flaring moon
Through the oak leaves?
Or of my uncertain window and thebare floor
Spattered with moonlight?
Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them
Of blossoming hawthorns,
And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of loveliness
Beneath my hand.

I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against
The want of you;
Of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
And I scald alone, here, under the fire
Of the great moon.