The furze was bright with flowers, as if earth spilled with sweetness beneath the sun’s caress. Wild horses ran on Larkbarrow Hill. I watched the swallows whirling, let the wind whip through my hair. That was where she found me, the morning that we met.
Heat shimmered on the gorse and bees thronged in the heather. Thickets dripped with butter gold and sheltered secret hollows. We stole long hours together, lost amid a honey haze. Through close-cropped grass I felt the warmth of sandstone melt my bones.
Goldfinches darted through the thorns like splinters of the sun. A red kite stalked the darkening sky. I watched her shadow lengthen as she crossed the burning moor. Smoke stung my throat, bitter as our broken words.
The horses stood in silence, turned against the numbing wind. Cobwebs shivered on spines of gorse and blackened heather stems. On Larkbarrow Hill I walked alone and waited for the dawn. The first light caught a scrap of gold, the memory of a kiss.
