Outdoors Magazine

A Walkhampton Man

By Undercurtain
A Walkhampton Man
A cross, half-formed, angles out From the slope of Gutter Tor. Carved in-situ, once upright, Now it leans, pointing North West, Partially hidden from the sun. Green moss, laid thick, Despoils the surface, Already cracked and scarred From biting wind and rain. Slowly, in a time Measured by the season The Goddess reclaims the stone Laying it gently down Back into the waiting earth.
There was a Walkhampton man, We'll call him Gabriel. He was fully-formed, Steeped and matured On the slope of Knowle Down. Weather-wise, moss-free, He knew which way to turn Against a biting easterly. All the tricks, the little secrets, She'd hidden away, He'd prize out with a crafty gleam, Hoping she wouldn't see. And maybe she turned a blind eye, But in return, and slowly, A time measured by the season, She reclaimed him, Laying him gently down Back into the loving earth.

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