have walked along this ancient way so many, many times and yet
seems somehow different, all parameters have changed,
I see The wild Welsh hills are draped in silent, crawling mist that
fold me in its cold, white arms and carry me through time.
as it clears, are those King Offa's men who call to me
From that stockade where, looking westward, vigilant and strong,
brace themselves against attack - but then are gone
the mist? And
I am back where I belong -
boring, clicking, boxes ticking, unromantic world where I came from!
Offa's Dyke [1:38] - soundscape composed by Paul Hill
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