My Saturday post - messages from images

The Telegraph pole….

 

More pleasant than a pylon; there’s a certain beauty about timber.

Numbered and with a warning sign - Danger of death - Keep off. I’ve never needed the warning sign… I’ve naturally just kept off them.

I wouldn’t like to manual handle one, or be part of the team that erects them, I don’t know how far they go into the ground, but it must be quite a way.

 

Stacksteads

 

Lancashire

 

 

THE LINE-GANG

 

Robert Frost

 

Here come the line-gang pioneering by.

They throw a forest down less cut than broken.

They plant dead trees for living, and the dead

They string together with a living thread.

They string an instrument against the sky

Wherein words whether beaten out or spoken

Will run as hushed as when they were a thought

But in no hush they string it: they go past

With shouts afar to pull the cable taut,

To hold it hard until they make it fast,

To ease away—they have it. With a laugh,

An oath of towns that set the wild at naught

They bring the telephone and telegraph.

Done