The spot, though fair, was very desolate--
The longer I remained, more desolate: 780
And, looking round me, now I first observed
The corner stones, on either side the porch,
With dull red stains discoloured, and stuck o'er
With tufts and hairs of wool, as if the sheep,
That fed upon the Common, thither came
Familiarly, and found a couching-place
Even at her threshold.
and
a chain of straw,
Which had been twined about the slender stem
Of a young apple-tree, lay at its root; 880
The bark was nibbled round by truant sheep.
and
towards the cottage I returned; and traced
Fondly, though with an interest more mild,
That secret spirit of humanity
Which, 'mid the calm oblivious tendencies
Of nature, 'mid her plants, and weeds, and flowers,
And silent overgrowings, still survived.
Wordsworth, 'Margaret, or The Ruined Cottage', The Excursion Book One.
On Feb 9, 2016, at 21:54, Andrew Burke <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> 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.
>
>
> --
> Andrew
> http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
> Books available through Walleah Press
> http://walleahpress.com.au
>
>
>
>
>
> This email has been sent from a virus-free computer protected by Avast.
> www.avast.com <https://www.avast.com/sig-email>
> <#DDB4FAA8-2DD7-40BB-A1B8-4E2AA1F9FDF2>
|