Barefoot on brown bog.
Red brown water squelches through my toes.
Smell of pink heather on the wind.
...
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My paternal grandmother who came from Ireland as a child used to bake that brown bread and I could taste in my mind while reading your poem. That's a memory that goes back 60 years! This a gem of a vignette, Not a wasted word. And no interpretation imposed. You just let the event, thoroughly dscribed, speak for itself. Because as Wallace Stevens put it, BEING THERE TOGETHER IS ENOUGH. And that includes us readers you invited along.
Such a lovely poem Noreen, indeed it brought back many happy memories.
So beautiful and evocative Noreen with vivid imagery of memories of a time long gone, but still ingrained in your memory capturing moments of everlasting joy!
The way things used to be. This is a lovely little narrative Noreen. Don't suppose there's a lot of turves being used these days. Home made brown bread and free range eggs no doubt, can't beat it. An enjoyable read.
The poem is descriptive and evocative. Loved reading it.