The dry stone walls lining the lane
were decorated with toadflax, lichen,
and tiny faces of heartsease.
The pale stones like warm pumice
were home to basking lizards,
glistening slow-worms with flicking tongues,
and fat-bodied, mottled spiders,
their slung webs like fragile silk doilies.
Strings of lights, pin-points of fire
lit our way returning, our footsteps
and our words echoing up the gardens
and ahead of us, along the lane.
© Sarah Barr