In an old country
The young woman long forgotten except by her older self, stepped out of this known but large and puzzling place into an unknown world, stepped out of it onto a yellow bus at Devil’s Bridge, the Primrose bus that crossed the moors to County Durham and the north east coast. A county shared with unknown others, farmers, travellers and local rural folk, those for whom every bird and flower had a proper country name, none of your show-off Latin, though the types and families of creatures were well understood, enemies known, nettle and mole, fox and crow, the deathly poisonous fungi, invading bamboo. And symbols of innocence, the thorny sprays of wild dog-rose, the scented honeysuckle, darkening blackberries, and elderberries from their froth of cream bloom. She walked past a barn that was said to be haunted, by cock-fighters keeping her out. She walked along the riverside, a river of clear water, salmon and pearl mussels, where she would swim as though unseen, while keepers and poachers might hide behind every bush, in their perennial tussle for ownership of the water and its harvest.
A face in the barn,
riverside bushes rustle,
Copyright © Sally Evans 2015
Editor: Poetry Scotland broadsheet, Scots Language Centre website poems, Keep Poems Alive blogzine, The Poetry Scotland Daily. hosts Callander Poetry Weekend. Member, The Poetry Society, registered Live Literature Scotland www.desktopsallye.com, facebook and twitter