Violence and profligacy seem everywhere in the natural world; or indifference.

Visited St Enodoc's church in Cornwall recently. Somehow connected in my mind with Getting Old is Private (which it clearly isn't).

A little Christmas tune, a little late. 

Found my brother again, in a picture he did long ago

Pastoral is a poem about doubt. Assumptions. A touch of Frost, too. 

We all live in invented spaces (I assume).

Power is about imposing one's own space on another's.