that’s what she said. Of course,
I begin to find fault: a shrub partly obscures the view,
there’s a glint of car windows and,
if I listen hard enough, I sense the thrum of traffic.
I’ll admit the colours are strong,
mid-summer: yellows of wheat-fields,
oaky greens, and the hills’ hazed blue.
A single cloud hovers off-centre, elders waft,
sheep bleat, swallows jaunt. Yes, it’s lovely.
But the Best View?
It’s like someone telling you
their top three films. You’ll disagree. Instantly.
Plus, there isn’t a river, the valley could be deeper,
the blue bluer.
Had she not said a thing,
I’d have sat here, quietly smug,
feeling I’d discovered this place,
would have gone home, told everyone
I’d found the Best View in England.
The post The Best View in England appeared first on The Spectator.
Got something to add? Join the discussion and comment below.
Get 10 issues for just $10
Subscribe to The Spectator Australia today for the next 10 magazine issues, plus full online access, for just $10.
Comments
Don't miss out
Join the conversation with other Spectator Australia readers. Subscribe to leave a comment.
SUBSCRIBEAlready a subscriber? Log in