Published by Open Love Letters


"Dear Burley in Wharfedale, 

Please forgive me for not coming to see you now that the final droplets of spring have oozed into the Yorkshire fields. I'm currently having a hot bath. I did my usual rituals, added lavender hoping it will help me sleep better. The water is so deep that it's embraced my whole body at once. I pushed the window open and that's when I knew I must write to you. When you're in isolation, the smell of the outside world lingers on your lungs a little longer than usual. I can almost taste the soil, the pine perfume you carry on your moss skin. I understand now, the way the willow trees bow to your touch, sculpted just so they can savour the sweet sugar you float downstream. I remember the first time I came to you. Your stepping stones made my heart skip a beat. I ached for the cold water that would wake my bones, just as I do now in this bath that's fat too hot and making me dizzy. I feel copped up in this house with its dusty corner and hollow basement. I watched a film last night and you were in it. You cascaded through the hills, deep into the tombs of the earth and spilling into cavernous, sapphire oceans. I featured on your curved, the way they flowed like the blood in my veins. Films are the only thing that can bring you close to me right noe. And books. I miss you and can't wait to be engulfed by you once again. Please hold me in your thoughts as you bathe the birds and flowers. I can still hear the white noise of your waters cascading over the black rock. The froth of your cauldron descending into a swimming pool fit for the fairies.

Until we meet again,

Holly x"