Slip Through Time

Last evening upon a Sussex Hill, where ancient folk of old made camp, the chalk still damp from early rain, the horizon soft with cloud, unseen Skylarks sang their bedtime tale, floating down to rest, where Whitethroat chattered a last goodnight to the sleeping Yellow Hammer, deep within their thorny bed upon the hilltop crest. Then from the east, as corvids gathered atop the tallest tree, a Spitfire sped in ghostly form, to circle, bank then turn, through misty cloud as summer light slipped into summer night, and made us catch our breath and say - only on the Sussex Downs! - simply the best!

Words and pictures by Artist and Druid © 2023 unless otherwise indicated.