The hermit in this piece is in fact a character from one of my stories called "The Old Woman Of The Forest.
The poem was written in 1984 in a an attic flat in Monton, Manchester.
I recorded it inside a Citroen Berlingo parked behind a dry stone wall in Shap Cumbria with sheep bleating through the night
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lyrics
TWILIGHT OF A HERMIT
A pastel trellis Blends to silhouette as owl hoot beckons day-fall
the bird chime restive still from early sun-beam breaking…
And from my perch, misplaced in some forgotten routing tumble…
patient… waiting… I eye this fragile jungle
Listen to the hollow echo common to the first and last call broaching silence,
Watch the impact of a fallen crystal drip drop as it meets
that world of black and moon-pale grey-shine.
Feel the tremble of existence ebb and sink
beyond the distant vaults beyond my eye-line,
and dare not breathe…
for fear of waking..
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