Wollaton Hall

Wollaton Hall, Nottingham

The mist from the river

Settles above

Like a hovering, silver web

Protecting the inhabitants of the lake

A force field engulfing the grounds.

 

The leaves

Like crushed velvet

Are scattered like confetti

With buds of new life

Hidden beneath.

 

The air is cold and crisp

But in a refreshing

Slap-you-awake sense of being.

 

I sit on a wrought iron bench

My eyes slightly glazed

Taking in the morning beauty

Of the old Tudor house.

 

Crowned with crows

Hiding a dark, desperate secret

Buried in the past

Never to be rediscovered.

 

-E xxx

Photo Credit: tiikka at https://www.flickr.com/photos/36599408@N02/3376557384 (although I altered the colour saturation to make it black and white)