Their Space, Our Space

Where we live 
Borrowed views 
Stretch  the imagination;
The thread of the lane over the hill, 
The upland ridge 
Or blanket of moorland fog;
Always aware of our windswept ride 
And the light of the Western sky. 

Unique 
Is the position of our home;
Though once those ancient stones 
Yielded 
No view,
Sparing the inhabitants 
Of the prevailing wind
That tunnels  though  ancient walls,
Rattling the roofs, 
Chanelling the rain through
The lightest of soils, 
Through to the slate beneath;
Aware, but sheltered from a windswept ride 
And the light of the Western sky. 
 
And our nearest 
Neighbours
(those who share our postcode)
See
It differently:
 
A patchwork  of fields,
Glimpsed
Through the hedge,
Flatter land,
Fields of Green,
Aware but hidden from our 
Windswept ride 
And the light of the Western sky 


Then there’s the lodge-
Reminder of finer things;
It breathes with the trees,
Enveloped  in beech
Cocooned by oak. 
  
Unaware of our 
Windswept ride
And the light of the  Western sky

And there’s a manor,
Though you’d never know; 
No signage
And Hidden from view 
In a dip;
Formality of planting
An ordered view 
An arboretum
Of plantsman’s finds;
Unaware of our 
Windswept ride
and the  light of the Western sky. 

And down to the village
Off the ridge
Into the Saxon wheel;
Moorland views
Of different kind
Deep valleys,
Deep ford,  
Sunsets 
Turneresque 
Under our  hill 
Aware of the windswept ride
And the light of the Western sky.  


We all live 
In the same place-
Geographically at least;
But each sees it 
Differently,
Determined by aspect.


Unique is our space 
Our own patch of ground
Open or sheltered
Our canopy 
Of sky.

Their space, 
Our space: 
Same but different,
All under  an Eastern and Western sky.