…Her hand crept to the feather at her throat.
Her gift from the gods.
The colour of flame.
She had strayed from the path.
Preparing herself for what was to come.
The great bird had wheeled overhead.
Soaring above the trees in the morning.
She had looked down and seen rainbows caught in the feather, bright against the grass and smiled…
…Having exhausted my wish list of trips yesterday I have left today’s agenda to Wen and our first port of call is to another little church, Hulcott – All Saints. This church thing would not necessarily have been a top priority of mine but the discoveries at Little Missenden came as such a pleasant surprise that I find my anticipation rising as we approach the church porch and I start to envisage the possibilities that may lie inside.
… Wen has skipped along the gravel path…
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