larch-boles

Updated: July 23, 2025

She hurried along, leaving the beaten track, creeping under the broad skirts of the beeches and over the white prostrate larch-boles where the resin ran slowly like the dark blood of creatures beautiful, defeated, dying. She began to climb, holding to the grey, shining boles of mountain ash-trees.

Mary Gladys Meredith Webb - Gone to Earth