Midhurst Magazine. Issue 31, Spring, April 2020. The 60th year edition.
Coming Home: The Kingley Vale Yews by Sue Tordoff
no chimneys smoke no people dwell no holy well, but a pocket of flint smooth sharp when napped it slept in the ground until I found it in the vee of ancient yew boughs someone placed a stone like an antler, an offering from the deer people echoing the growth of trees who goes in the grove, who shelters under the skelter of trees, whose hands smooth the rippled bark, whose heart made an altar of the yew?
those ancients walked the land before these trees were seeds, you can feel them still in the quiet of the vee formed by the hills in the valley of the grove of yews of you of me. we are the people we walk our rainbow walk we talk our raindrop talk we drop our voices under the yews we sing our ringing hearts we bring our offerings we reel bringing feelings wringing out our hearts what we offer is ourselves
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under the branches, the shapes of gothic arches. on the silent skyline barrows march. the mewing of the distant buzzard a call to prayer a prayer that moans in the wind, a wild and silent prayer, entreaty for healing for forgiveness that beseeches here loud in the ear, a buzzing-of-insectsprayer rasping in our heads, a fluttering-of-leaves prayer whispering on the breeze. the clasping of hands and genuflexion. moving branches applaud success
