At first I thought it would rain,
At first I thought we could change.
You climbed to the mouth of the cave,
Atlantis City before the wave.
I’m scared by how the birds have changed their flights,
By the fires blaze in the night,
And on the Moor,
I’ve never seen that before.
“On the Moor, smoke billowed and swirled, swept up into Yorkshire skies, and was blown for miles, from Sands End to York. As we drove, a putrid burning invaded through the vents in our car, an eerie kind of smog misted the horizon. Back in York, a background tinge of burnt heather, scented the city for days. We’re on fire now, there’s no escaping or ignoring it.”
The smell of lavender in the smoke,
From the heather, it came so close.
I’m scared by how the birds have changed their flights,
By the fires blaze in the night,
And on the Moor,
I’ve never seen that before.
“And then I sit, guitar in lap, and a song perches, takes flight and soars, and a strange kind of beauty is birthed from the mire of my despair. And all that’s left, is love for this fertile Earth, gazing at dew, the bracken, and hugging the trees in the woods, and surrendering, again, and again, and again.”
