I came across this poem today and rather liked it. It isn't about our Middleton Way but I thought some of you might like it too. It doesn't take a very enormous leap of the imagination to remind one of parts of our Middlewood way
"Middlewood Way" by William Barton (Don't worry about copyright, Mark, the author has been dead for over a years)
On the Middlewood Way the festival of May has almost ended -
white and pink blossom replaced by crimson clover,
spindly dog daisies, blue forget-me-nots, fox-gloves, and king-cups.
Yellow flag iris flourish in the shallow pools
which run alongside the old permanent way.
The new growing tips of the hawthorn hedges
lining the track are blood red.
Under the trees the path is lit by a shifting pattern of sunlight
as self-seeded youngsters struggle for light and space
under the fuller canopy of older residents.
Further along, a stand of densely planted pines
casts an ominous green shadow.
By contrast the light on the canal bank
is almost painful in its brightness.
A boat painted in gaudy traditional livery
chugs quietly past, leaving behind a friendly greeting
and a swirl of sunlit ripples.
On the hillside the sharp yellow gorse bushes are still in full bloom
complementing the clumps of pink rhododendron.
In the distance, a optimistic red fox takes refuge
behind a stone wall overlooking a field of sturdy lambs.
A heron in clerical grey bickers with two raggedy crows
beside a stream clattering over moss covered stones.
The muddy track watered by last night's rain is every shade of brown.
but in the distance the hills are slate grey
merging into the colour of clouds and sky,
and the white-washed Bowderstonegate Farm stands out sharply
against a rinse of greens and greys.
William Barton
