SHOULDHAM WARREN

Pine trees-the lungs of Shouldham Warren exude their
pine-scented breath. Ribs of tree trunks
and aoeli of needles filter out
the setting sun. Bird songs fade
into the forest's heart.
My boots crush grass, splash water, squelch
mud. A thought of menace, a safe shudder of
imagined dangers thrill me as I think of the
many miles to tread before home.
The sun sets in Shouldham Warren,
shadows deepen. Moonlight flickers on the
road ahead. Moonbeams pierce into
the forest's heart.