Albion, ancient sites, Art, Don and Wen, Stuart France, Trickster



We had watched the ferry moored

as we waited to disembark.


And its something we do by habit

down south…

Always returning via Avebury.


We had never thought to do it up north,

until ‘nudged’ ‘cross country to do so…


Breaking Meg’s sibling embrace,

this time was like a plasma pulse

of realisation.


Her new ‘tatt’ now shadowing

the line connecting her

with both Callanish and Arbor Low.


“We had to tie it in!”


“That’s why we’re here!”


“It might have been nice to know that before hand?”


“Where’s the fun in that?”


7 thoughts on “Moorings…”

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