At the break of a chilly day,when the ghostly winter-greybark of beech trunks glintedin the low sun, I squintedand found, written in the frost,as if they had recently been lost,a scattering of words: poems scratched by birds,the cursive trail of a snail,the imprint of a pattern of ovalfox pads, toes of mole and mouse,just outside […]
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writing in north norfolk 