Through the side door. I look to the early morning sky opening, like an eyelid, on the lazy eye of the sun.
Light pours gold through the mist lying on the field before the town.
The commanding church-tower glories in the dawn, its receding shadow points an accusing finger towards me. Did they look down, I wonder, at the first men stacking stone upon flat stone to make a wall, to build a state, and did they see each century's invaders, saxon, viking, dane, their tongues and facial features absorbed into the celtic bloodline.