Fragments of the past fixed on my boots,

Muddy footprints hint of previous travellers of this lane.

 I am alone now though, utterly alone.

  Only the sound of the tree dwellers break the sombre mood,

Along with my noisy footsteps, speaking of many memories; of longings, dreams and hope.

Cycles reveal themselves with the unfolding ferns, greeting me like a long lost friend.

 We met last year and the year before but was the light this beautiful then, the colours so vibrant, the sun so warm on my face.

How beautiful this muddy lane is,

 Is there no one beguiled by its rhythm, its hope, its history, its heavenly presence.

 The answer is obvious by the strewn detritus of other visitors.

The ancient hedgerow forms a cloak, striving to disguise the intrusion of the man made.

Come night time, a shadowy veil leeches over its path,

cold unwelcoming.

The manifestation of an imagined murky past threaten its daylight allure.

Continuation of time ensures this will not last, the soft rain, the gentle breeze, the warm rays, the light will return to this lane

….and so will I.