A view from the No. 19 by Adam Parry

The cloud mountains reaching high over the horizon

-not unlike a mirage-

on the hills over the river.

A battlement of formidable pine trees

high up with no wars to fight today.

The river hidden by the folds of the field of horses, hidden by

trees, houses,

but I knew exactly when to look. This gap between houses, what I would see...

that bend in the river where the fisherman reigns in silence and the heron spectates,

passing so briefly by, but moved

as we move on inevitably to the lonely Terminus.