sound of bugles
among the grass
this is one I blogged over a year ago, so some of you won’t have seen it
This is the place where the past catches up with us – or we catch up with the past? History is written deep into the schist hills. The road we used to travel by the Clutha, past the apple orchards, has disappeared. The deep blue water covers every trace, and it’s no longer possible to see any of the old routes. The Cromwell bridge is drowned, along with the old town. All that remains are a few of the original buildings, restored, rebuilt and used as tourist attractions. Vineyards cover the hillsides, their sweeps of bird-netting looking like giant hammocks.
Old railway stations grace every small town, the rails long gone, each one reminiscent of more leisurely days. Their names evoke memories…
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