Springtime Afternoon

Spring rain. Wet white skies. Thinking of cathedrals in lost English villages, and the sounds of rivers in the night. Want to go out walking through a labyrinth of ragged hedgerows, a maze of spinneys, a conspiracy of coppiced woods. Rest in the shadows of ramshackle barns in forgotten afternoons, time suspended. Been here forever. Dry stone walls and hidden streams, undecipherable bird shapes in the sky, and the distance ever near.
Alone in the office, sound of the call centre-just outside my door, voices in the room next door. Feel that if my focus slips, I'll daydream the afternoon away.