Down the winding path, near sunset borough, Lazy haze stagnates – a mist in the furrow. That heady rustic stench of sunkissed yarrow, A cacaphony of lull, the breeze it borrowed. Of footsteps trudged, along these dewy meadows, Eerie coldness wanders – the wind shrieked n’ echoes Crackling flames ripple round wary shuffling sparrows. Flickering…

Thanks for joining me! Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton