The static shadows of the oaks siphon through the grey light. A lone monument appointed with an iron crucifix stands to the side of a muddied cobble track. Their footsteps barely whisper on the stone. The fold of their cloaks is mute in the fog. The procession moves step by step; slowly resolving into the grey limbo ahead. Then they are gone and the ends of their ritual lie unseen beyond nature’s veil.
Paddy Dobson
2nd November 2021