Winter Trees and Ravens, Wimbeldon Common.

Past ages dark, quiet golden fields, fences and stark winter trees, menacing.

Nights of winds and witches, imagined spells, black in form and black in judgement.

A Tower in the distance across a royal view planned and squares filled with black death.

A god to be feared, a life begrudged to be lived holding onto the anticipated smell of warmth to come in summer hours.