from Closen

1 [call: Clare] Clabbered, the sky shut with clouds, leaden and various, an inclement orthography of wind and rain, suthering through the fen, where the will-o-wisp lights its dusky lantern, honey fungus or ball lightning, the supposed source of all my wonderment, what keeps me rummaging, driven from field to field, among the furze-light— your […]