Day 2 – The Sycamore Gap Tree

Sycamore, sycamore.

Say your name our loud.

Sycamore, sycamore.

A whisper plays

upon the wind.

A spell to conjure

you to life before me.

Between Milecastle 13 and Crag Lough,

at the end of a cliff, on an outcrop of Whin Sill

sandwiched between the Roman Wall,

Sycamore, Sycamore

I come to you.

Once, one of many,

you stand alone

in your splendour.

I come carrying

Hollywood images

of bows and arrows

and thieves. Fake.

Sycamore, sycamore.

I touch your truck.

Reddy-grey fissured bark

and white tender lichen.

I stretch my neck back

to look up and up

onto your foliage.

Magnificent.

Every shade of green

spreads wide.

Shining out from your

everlasting soul.

Sycamore. Sycamore.

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