We return as we always said we would.
White foxglove path climbs through sweet honeysuckle,
slips out onto open hill.
The stone stands still; another summer breathes around it;
sea gazer, sky searcher, earth dweller.
We stand and let the stone absorb our fingerprints.
Timeless, shadowy travellers
lay gifts of flowers on creviced flanks.
Horses keep watch, while rabbits scatter in the dusk.
We leave the ache of a nightingale's song.
A fine dog fox gives us good night.