Lola.

When I walk out with Lola it's with an expectation that a truth will be revealed on the, otherwise common, paths.

A shared joy of an adventure on ways drawn upon heavily with others preceding track, or away, foreign, from where we're not meant to go: down the edge of hedge and field - without any right of way!

There are places I'm sure only her and I have waited together, for a joy to unfold, this year, but then some sign of earlier man erases this dream.

Recently it was a cluster of red shotgun cartridges around the decaying trunk of a long dead hawthorn: a death foretold.

We often wait together in these other places and I let the sinister spaces, away to the south and west, be somewhere else.

To cuddle Lola in these moments is very restful and brings me happiness. And there isn't a moment goes forgotten when I ask for a gentle kiss and there isn't one given.

It's a pleasureable feeling knowing what I need, want, desire and looked to for is given without a moment decision all along the wayward strips of land we furrow.