The Vale Of Peace

The Vale of Peace It is overcast in the valley and rounded hills, luckily there is no coal here no slag heaps, disfigure the quit scenery; this is quieter now than before, people only drive when they must, in time of austerity and high gasoline prices. The wind is acerbic and in no mood to be nice, although it blows from the south, which often gives a lovely aroma of milkmaids breaths, contented, cream drinking cats and engaging, giggly love amongst hey stacks. The shepherd and his flock cross the road, he has a dark outdoor face, craggy as a volcanic mountain and it carries a melancholic mien of one, who spends much time alone, and his sheep look as terracotta figures in fading light. Wooly -backs are not known for being conversationalists; except for bleating now and then they eat. I turn also this is not a day for walks, better lit the fire be contemplative and gently subdued on this overcast day.