Langdale Axe Factory

High, much higher than one can imagine

The soaring skyline of Pike O’Stickle

Ablaze.  Fire-set rock alive again

With percussive blows, little by little

Rough cut quarry men, rough out axes of greenstone

Volcanic tuff exposed in time lost land.

They are at one with the stone, names unknown,

Everything to hand, everything by hand.

I found fragments in the weather-washed peat

Revealed anew like buried memories.

Offcuts- deep cuts, some sharp some bitter sweet

We all have in common our histories.

On our knee jarring, ankle twisting quest

Do we pick them up or just let them rest?

 

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