From its tentative first word ('perhaps') to the final phrase, realising 'here is no journey / only attending to stones- / like a story told yet again / by an old friend', the reader is immersed in a woodland that is alive with quiet yet profound epiphanies-the way we live and die; the way we might weave narratives that change our stories. In this liminal place, which is both a real woodland and an internal space, we learn that 'What matters is...
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Poetry