Struggling through waist high
reeds by a small creek
on wild paddocks in
Middlemarch outside of
Dunedin in New Zealand
to tramp our way
to a derelict deserted house
built with irregular sized stones
stone on top of stone to
weather the storms
and as shelter from sunshine.
Oh generations of sheep
have sheltered here,
their pellet-size poo
melting and binding together
to create a soft flooring
and a rich aroma. Hessian
hangs tattered on what's left
of walls, so history sends
its own vibes down the years,
sheep bleating in the fields.
No comments:
Post a Comment