Late afternoon mist, before darkness arrives
Sheep are gathered by the hedgerow
They wait for whatever sheep wait for
In these surreal metaphysical conditions
Bare branch trees are shrouded
In spume, a solidified half grey blossom
They are placed at indeterminate distance
Cars flash by
Halogen headlights, and diesel breath exhaust
I park by the side of the wood
I want to capture this dull sky atmospheric
It is a view endorsed by the random rags
Disaffected litter attached to the skeletal frames
Around the bend a convoy approaches
The leader of the pack advances ever so cautious
He, or she, peers into the place where only I can see
Although I fail to hold myself together in this ether
The effervescence of interpretation escapes me
It could have been a meditation
It could have been a painting by Turner
It could have been an island in a Buddhist movie
It could have been the story of what is lost is lost
It was not any of these fanciful representations
It was sheep, gathered in late afternoon mist
