Ghost routes

A narrow length of grey 
Disappears into black
Between high hedges
Well aligned.
Ferns are arched
With secrets held
In spectral stillness.
A Breath of wind
elicit conversations
Between the leaves,
Of time forgotten
By long gone travellers
Whose spectres linger there
Above the moss
And creeping ivy
That twists around
The gnarled trunks of trees.
Haunting stillness
Envelopes all and
Takes me in to feel
And breathe that history.

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