Like Words in a Book


Some moments are pressed like the words in a book.
Remember the evening we climbed Nicky Nook?
The weakening sun was below the old stile,
As we crossed the hill’s ridge and looked down on the Fylde –
A glorious seascape of yellow and rust,
With our shadows behind us, blue in the night’s dust,
Reaching up through the atmosphere, billowing shrouds,
Painting giant reflections across silent clouds.
No-one spoke. Held in dreamtime, we just exchanged looks.
Sometimes moments are pressed like the words in a book.

23 responses to “Like Words in a Book

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