Poetry on Pule Hill – the Stanza Stones trail

A sky sodden with grim intentions. The grass-blasted upward sweep fuelled by white noise. You pulling ahead, like you always do, snout down. And the whole time – the static pop pop pop of rain on my hood. Filling my ears. Oh aye, poetry in motion (mine and Brodie’s, heading uphill). Actually,  really bad poetry, I know. But I … Keep reading >