Not what I expected at all, but the first story, 'Ness' was an allegory written with some phenomenal descriptive prose in a long poem format, and I liked it; the second half about holloways less so, very brief and like ghost stories, but boring ones.
Look – here as comes, who exists only as likeness, moves as mist & also as metal, cannot be grasped or forced, is the strongest & strangest & youngest & oldest of all the five, slipping through trees, past houses, rolled by the wind at years each minute – rolled by the wind as if through time & in it.
When you’re with Drift, time does really strange things. Drift is one of those friends who make sequence shiver, lay out odd things side by side, fully disassemble the normal for a while. Today with Drift is pre-Cambrian, today with Drift is Anthropocene. Drift doesn’t really do time, though – Drift more does space. Drift is always becoming. Drift is vast & if you had to describe Drift you would need a new kind of map & a new kind of language. The only end to Drift would be the end of the oceans, which in turn would be the end of the planet – & no one really wants that.
Many of those who have walked these old ways have seen them as places within which one might slip back out of this world, or within which ghosts softly flock.
Down in the dusk of the holloway, the landscape’s pasts felt excitingly alive & coexistent, as if history had pleated back on itself, bringing discontinuous moments into contact & creating correspondences that survived as a territorial imperative to concealment, escape & encounter.
I now understand it certainly to be the case, though I have long imagined it to be true, that stretches of a path might carry memories of a person just as a person might of a path.