Trail

On the quiet edge of the wood,
a narrow trail winds through amber leaves,
soft underfoot as the morning mist
lingers like a sigh over the ferns.

It threads between ancient oaks,
their roots gripping the loam like old friends,
and skirts the hedgerow where blackbirds
flutter from branch to thorn‑laden bough.

Each step echoes a gentle crunch,
a rhythm that matches the heartbeat
of the countryside—steady, unhurried,
inviting the wanderer to pause and breathe.

The trail climbs gently over a stile,
offering a view of the rolling vale,
where sheep dot the patchwork fields
and the sky stretches in a watercolour blue.

Here, time loosens its grip,
and the path becomes a ribbon
tying the traveller to the land,
a silent promise of discovery ahead.

When the sun dips low, casting long shadows,
the trail glows gold, then fades to twilight,
guiding the weary back to the cottage glow,
where stories of the day are warmed by tea.

So follow the trail, let it lead you—
through copse and brook, over hill and hollow—
for in every footfall lies a whisper
of Britain’s timeless, wandering spirit.