Fiona Botham, who is originally from Worcestershire, finds inspiration and solace in the countryside; from the rough scrape of a cow lick to a dash through a muddy brook. She teaches, writes and enjoys spending time with her young family.
I walk, stretching limbs across legs of land,
Feeling the bright burn in muscle, sinew and lung.
I climb, pounding self up and over rutted hill
Needing to move, to find rhythm with the earth.
I lunge, grabbing branches that loop air to water,
Tasting the dank sweetness of fallen rain.
I expand, spanning hands under squalling clouds,
Wanting to be swept up, pummelled, made new.
I lie, clutching grass and moss and mulch,
Finding solace in the forgiving mother’s woodland womb.
I sleep, breathing safely in the velvet den,
Exhaling an ancient grief; inhaling in peace.
The Walk © Fiona Botham