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‘Trapped or shot?’ I ask the vicar.
He looks at me in a way that can only be described as aggressive. ‘Trapped,’ he says.
I nod. ‘It’s your call. But if I can just give you a wee bit of …

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Dry-stone walls rose like towers up the steep and craggy hillside, patches of mist slithered across peaked summits, Herdwicks and Swaledales wandered through the fells. An aged cottage jutted from the side of the Old Man of Coniston. In red …

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Not so much the rivers that have dried up
As myself, dried up with acts and failure to act,
Alexis is yours, mine is named differently
But beauty lay there too, my eyes joined my will
To love for a …

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Evening falls on the smoky walls,
And the railings drip with rain,
And I will cross the old river
To see my girl again.

The great and solemn-gliding tram,
Love’s still-mysterious car,
Has many a light of gold and …

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