‘Major Oak’ of Sherwood Forest from flickr.com (free to share & use commercially)
A thickness about my waist reminds me
now, of the enormous girth of an ancient oak tree,
almost
dead.
My arms feel leaden,
and I think of that same old oak tree – branches
propped
up
by
rods,
as my arms
descend into
playdough
rolls that –
twist and
thin
to a
p
o
i
n
t.
Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.
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