They had tipped it in one slow sleeve of action
with a rumbling of stone
and muttering of rock.
There were three heaps in all, waiting
to be laid out onto the paths for heavy loads
and bumping rubber.
Weeks later a hole appeared, making the
stone become an igloo. The opening
was a liver shape, scraped and scratched out
by the claws of a vixen. I smiled to myself on
passing. The cubs would be playful like
children on a sand pit. Running up and down
scurrying and scampering. Their autumn colour
giving some light to the lowering sun.
But then man came along with his eyes.
Filling the hole up, trapping heartbeats and making
the family turn to bone dust before they had chance
to live a life.
Now the heap has gone and their remains will be
scattered like ashes. With man again closing the door
on another thing he doesn’t understand. Sharing.
By Gareth Culshaw
Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.