25 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

05/25 Bath, England


We caught a morning bus into Bath.  There was such a beautiful view out the window I hardly noticed any of the other passengers.  I could almost imagine hearing the hunter’s horn heralding from the hills, the sound of dogs running alongside the hooves of horses.  I gazed at the many sheep spattered like white paint against the green, divided by a patchwork of trees and fences.  (more…)

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27 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

05/27 Avebury, England


One night at Mik’s place while passing around the pipe, he weaved stories of sprits possessing the trails between the white horse and the many rock circles heading north.  I could almost visualize these images he was painting and hear the pounding of drums in the wind, as I focused in on the flames dancing with the beat.  (more…)

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27 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 002 Songs whispered


Songs whispered, by dancing grain, beneath the haunted moon
resounding to the whirlwind’s sweep the plain, for fear, that daybreak comes too soon.

Deep midnight, by the moon’s chill glance, out of the dense fog wrapped about them
the children cease to sing and dance, stands in a circle unbroken

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27 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Poetry, 0 Comments

Poem 003 Along the edge of open sky


Along the edge of open sky and vast sweeps of land, I followed the wildflowers
I heard sweet memories dances in the distance, sheep wandering through Avebury

Meandering lines of standing stones, crisscrossing the stars and planets, I too followed their path
the body of a serpent passing through a circle, toppled, broke up and buried, we shall never know

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30 May 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, 0 Comments

05/30 Stonehenge, England


Like a string of pearls, one complaint began to lead into another.  One minute it’s the weather, next minute it’s the price of food, carrying too much shit and then it was his feet.  “I’m not walking any further, maybe I’ll just fly home”, confronted Jim.  I reminded him that I was not his mother and if he thought I wanted to hear this shit, he had bigger problems than just his feet.  “Nobody’s putting a gun to your head and you don’t need my permission to make choices”.  I explained that I was not budgeted for repeating every other step and had a plan of what I wanted to see and experience and sometimes those things aren’t at the end of a train line.  “I’m committed to go forward and if you find it in your best interest to detour, I’m more than willing to meet you anywhere else on the map”.  “There’s no rule that says we have to do everything together”.  I provided an example of picking up women.  “I expect this to happen along the way and when we reach that fork in the road I’m sure you’re not going to be wanting me hanging around as a third wheel or vice versa.  We’ll just meet up someplace down the road”.  I tried to be a good person and attempt to avoid confrontations but traveling together has a tendency to bring these things to the surface.  Conflicts start and end with words.

Surely I dreamt today, or did I see. I wandered in this forest thoughtlessly
the clever boy that I once knew; with pebbles white and bread crumbs too
left no trail and lost my way, where all my pictures were thrown away

Through the forest, in the middle of a glade, forever nagging to persuade
no plank or bridge was placed in sight, only fists clinched as if to fight
the wind, the wind has caused me harm; you pulled too many false alarms.

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    Usually behind a cup of coffee waiting for the world around me to wake up I entered today’s thoughts about yesterday’s activities into my travel journal. I’m not a writer, so I’ll apologize in advance if I jump around or seem confused. These are just the thoughts of a young man who left his possessions behind and who believes that getting lost is how one finds oneself.

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