Webcharms

French grey rain dimpling olive puddles The anemones and dandelions stay shut on the hedge banks A rook stationed itself on the wire by the top of the telegraph pole while the car carried the slow sound of viols along the wet lane

The Third Branch, the chequered horse at the stream under the skylark overlayered landscape of dens and denes, gills and gullies woods, copses, shaws and spinneys.

Brazen celandines pinned on the grass where fire cows ruminate on cud dreaming of leaf-rimmed pools pierced by fallen timber. While the cantilevered branch splashes the blue-brown water the weblogs interweave, one modifying another

A prophet may come in the new Dark Ages From the sea-green forest where the leaf waves crash in the branches From the glaucous sea, ribbed and dangerous