Among the treed and tumbled hills,
Rock flecked and farmed,
Red patched cattle graze rank pastures
And textured earth is turned for seeding.
Scented wood smoke and river mist
Gather in winding sheets
Among the trees in the cool and water coloured,
Sun-slanting evening.
Drawn down rutted and resonant roads,
Fenced with split timber, re-rooted,
Mossed and wired, past apple bins
And packing sheds closed for the evening,
I walk as if with purpose
And silent and singular old men
Nod uncertain greeting,
Taunted by recognition without connection.