Wild, bleak moorland -
the wind strangling me with my own hair,
gagging my voice; and the the distant hills
glowing in a patch of moving sunlight, like disembodied Souls
flitting across the horizon.
I tasted the singularity of the heather,
it's woody stalks,
the incense scent of it's purple flowers.
They had a prophetic quality, a great poignancy
that was exquisite, almost torture.
There was only one proper path.
it led to the bridge over the stream.
And it was dangerously exposed out there -
anything moving could be seen for miles,
and a Red Kite possesses telescopic vision.
The agonized shriek
sent a spike of ice through my veins.
The flapping of great wings was barely audible
as it swooped and swallowed the lizard whole.
My footfalls hastened onward.
I felt the unevenness underfoot,
and an inward stab of empathy.
How it stung me, that little death.
A hungry Kite. A meal without a plate.
But I, too, had recently eaten - such hypocrisy!
Another's life force ingested,
too deep inside now to rectify. It was my teeth
that had torn into a chicken's flesh,
albeit killed by an unknown predator.
I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for your kind messages of comfort and support. I appreciate them so very much. I will visit you all again as soon as I can...
Please stay safe and happy😊 xxxxxx