Readers Write A world of my own


The view from my window fascinates me And I wonder if there are things only I see The smile from the stranger who passes each day The gesture forgotten as he fades away


The bustle of people, their eyes to the ground Missing the beauty of life all around No time to stand still or to wish upon stars As they run to catch buses or drive their fast cars


I create them new lives so they all can be free So now they’re both real and imaginary The silence now loud as the pace starts to slow In a world of my own of which no-one else knows


The last shiny droplets of translucent dew Dissolve as the heat casts a silvery hue I am breathing in scent as the grass moves as one And a lonely flower tilts its face up to the sun


There are shapes of colours and whispers of dreams


And a breeze chasing bubbles that race down the stream


The thrill of the season is starting to rise Like a ripple of static that leaps to the skies


The images change as the day becomes night Horizons now dotted with orange street lights The phase of the moon working spells from afar A wispy trail follows a bright shooting star Pink fills the sky at the break of the dawn Sunrise casts shadows of trees on the lawn A curious time with no end and no start Just puffs of white mist and the beat of my heart


The view from my window fascinates me And I wonder if there are things only I see As a new day begins I know not what it brings And I smile to myself as the birds start to sing


Country Bred A little speck of red a tiny sparkling light busy on the moorland edge, they’re bringing in the corn. Combines working in the field cut and laid to many lines. Ripened grains transported home chaff left behind.


The morning field was golden, moving, full of life, now standing bare three inches tall, rabbits gone for pies. This cycle will be run again for so it is each year. “All safely gathered in” we sing, the land has offered up its share.


I see this from a window amongst a crowd of houses, although it is a distant view my heart strong grew amid the corn, for I am country bred and born.


Diana Mudd The Challenge


Where buzzards hover overhead, and ethereal voices ring,


challenge invites, as adventure excites in all the wild notes that sing: to those who dare to venture forth upon an elevated air: to tread in silent traces of Eden’s ancient echoes.


About each wind-worn granite height where earth and man and sky unite with a spirit that knows no creed or race


or the divided colours of creation’s face, spring un- folds:


upon young hearts and eager souls who forgather in the great outdoors to rendezvous with grandeur’s timeless moors to challenge -


The Challenge of Ten Tors


Vanessa Rundle. 28


Wendy I Yelland


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