The carving of the land by man was desecration then
Now the M6 winds,
a lazy snake twixt bare-backed hills
And drivers glance, perhaps,
At the green beyond the screen.
Here, in the dale, there’s no thought of motorway
No place for cars, no road, no lights.
The stillness in the centre of the night
Defies time’s passing
Ignores the city’s breath.
I am still, in my mind, of childhood’s kind,
Toes in the river,
The glimpse of a bug stretching into hours
Green rub on my soles.
Harriet Fraser, June 2015