It is my belief that we lack a certain element of myth-making in our lives as they stand. There is a sad gap in our understanding when we view everything as it is rather than looking at what we may wish to have been there once. Take the woods out the back of where we live, an area covered in gnarled, but not terribly old, trees that my son and I walk through quite often. We usually walk them together in companionable silence, he looks at the leaves and watches for aeroplanes and I simply watch my footing over him, he's in the baby-carrier, and keep an eye peeled for free fruit of some description. Occasionally we'll see wildlife like grey squirrels, hedgehogs or various common types of bird.
But what if I told him stories about the woods? About the great and terrible things that took place there in days gone by. I know they didn't, he will learn that they didn't, but what will have been lost?
Would you like to know more?
Days of Kings
In the Dimwald of the plains, far from the sea,
There was a king of men and drinker of ale.
His cloak the darkest ash and eyes of piercing glint,
Owain Thurgood was known as mighty and bold.
Gathered about him was his clan of bronze,
Schooled in the way of hunt and clash,
Honourable men all with locks chained by brow.
And that will have to do for now.