Bincombe Loop walk

Misty trees standing sentinel,
Old men on raked terraces
Their bodies threadbare
Feet shrouded in the detritus of the long year
As they head towards winter.
Ancient souls sigh as we walk between
Their contemplation
Of time passing.
The world turning.

Moving past we do not see
Successes, failures, past glories.
Beyond our awareness
Beneath our feet
Their histories, inspirations
Networks of connectivity
Root them into their surroundings
Give significance to their lives.