Oh so very long ago when the lowlands were forested

and full of wolves, when there was still no word for blue,

a woman stepped out on the moor for the first time

and saw the trees were not the same as where she’d

come from, but were wind drifted, thick trunked,

trolled into faces and dancing limbs. She saw great

stones stacked as if by giants and cracked on the tors …

Virginia Griem And would she still pick May blossom for her hair, fragment