Thursday, 22 December 2011

Notes From A Dogwalk XII

Scratch fingers deep into folds of skin, rough affection; tough love for dogfriends. No herds today, just a faraway horse and cart, heading to the woods for fuel collecting. This land is picked clean by foragers; no stray branches or quiet trunks, all is empty, swept. Maybe that's why I can't feel life in the woods, no rotting detritus, thick layers of squirming mulch, rich in damp wriggling rot. The blood of the earth is missing, where is the regeneration, the bacteria blessing, churning death back to life.
There's life but in a different way; heat and cooking for the village gypsy families, survival in a cold winter. To keep themselves alive they take richness from the earth, leaving stony ground and scrabbling trees.


Urs Hans Zehntner said...

Dear Ursula,
My seasonal gratings, my you adventures be long and enduring.You are a very special Girl. You writing is good enough for a book.
All the best in the cumming Years.
Urs Hans Zehntner from Australia

haveyouseenthisgirl said...

aaah, thank you Urs. How nice that you found me here. Same to you too, enjoy your beautiful country.