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There is no solace in the Cotswold Way today
No silence
Just acres of well trod beauty.

No solace, no silence;
Just brief encounters of pleasant greetings
And fellow feelings
Wrapped in heartbreaking beauty
And sometimes families
With glum faced teenagers in tow.

Solace and silence.
The farmer closing his gate;
The gardener digging his bed;
The sheep barn full of life
Turn their backs;
And only a too-often well-fed ram
Approaches in the field
Like a town square pigeon
Expecting an open hand
And bucking with a threatening lunge
When no treat is coming.





Modified 20/4/2019 after much reflection, so now a hybrid poem. "today" inserted into first line. The Way changes all the time. Eternalising it distorts what it is. "today" punctuates it. And probably punctures elements of an illusion.

I've also vacillated over the final word. Originally "comes". Then "is offered". And finally, or currently, "is coming". The movement of time


And I like the following, from Online Etymology Dictionary

1530s, "pointing of the psalms," from Medieval Latin punctuationem (nominative punctuatio) "a marking with points," noun of action from past participle stem of punctuare "to mark with points or dots," from Latin punctus, past participle of pungere "to prick, pierce" (from suffixed form of PIE root *peuk- "to prick"). Meaning "system of inserting pauses in written matter" is recorded from 1660s.