The track can only been seen from the air,
and memories from times before mine.
I saw children playing near a cottage and
a woman sat knitting by the sunny wall.
Water from the well put in urns, placed
in the sun for cleaning pots and pans.
A man, ploughing a meagre field while
gently harrying the docile donkey on.
A cloud halted the sharp sunlight and
I clearly saw a ruin, stones and thistle.
I knew what I had seen was real time
before mine had opened a rift of the past.
