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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Wild & free: 33 of 166

Bricklieve Retreat ____________________________________ These are not roads, they are boreens which tilt and twist to loop along the Bricklieves. So no matter where you're heading your always turning back on this boomerang map which makes the Sat Nav lady mad. November night, the fog hangs in the dips like a ghostly river and you are at the wheel cursing every turn that sidles us into the soft verges. Reducing your speed the road takes over without a straight, pot holed and bramble edged, it dives and rises, and sharpens the turns to slow you even more until you stop hill top and a family ...
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