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The Palimpsest of Childhood Summers Out All Day on the Brackenbright Hills Now Cross With New Paths Formed Not by Sheep or Children's Feet
I've had a lot of lovely emails this week. But I actually got a letter, a real life letter from somebody in the post. And she was telling me how excited she was because I mentioned her once before on the podcasting conversation. She said that she just was she was so shocked and excited and it was like she'd be mentioned on the podcast. So you're getting mentioned again, Liz,. The poem ends with these two verses, the palimpsest of childhood summers out all day on the Brackenbright Hills now cross with new paths formed not by sheep or children's feet, but by those social distancing through the undergrowth. This network of new walking paths