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The Cunning Man

There is a gentleman I have met only through FB, though the world being such a small place, he is known to the landlady of the Covenstead in Glastonbury,who relishes telling tales of his escapades rescuing elderly badgers and taking them to their setts when they get confused... which around Glastonbury is often. I have no idea why.

Many* call themselves Cunning, and  they probably fit the bill of some jack of all tricks country conjurer/herbalist/whatever in the hope of a few bob here and there,harking back to the days when few could read. But this man is different. He is old, a bard, and  a fine one at that. His talent is obvious and he is connected to his art, or time or something that rings true and I can't quite define. I think he is very at home in his land, a feeling alien to me, so my art must needs be different. Today I cannot do anything, being so full of cold, but to read his words is a delight. I hope he publishes a book of his poetry...

And will bet a psychotic angel fish to any takers that he'll never do it.

* Men, not badgers 

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