Took a few steps around that lonely house on the hill, climbed over the fence, entering your vast moorland. You had your tribe spread over those barren fields, all of you slowly moving towards the sea.
When I was a kid, I sneaked my way into the church, leaving my shoes at the door. Your cathedral is wide open, and I’m sorry for keeping my shoes on, but with a short leap, one last fence, I’m in the nave mid amongst you.
You saw me, but left me unnoticed. Your tribe passed. Some close, some distant. Then I kneeled before you.
A soft touch, a short blessing. All quiet, not even the wind.
Just the voice of a horse.