Making Up For Lost Time…
We drive across the moor, watching the landscape smudge at the edges where the distant solway promises sea. The heathland knits into the moss – into the blanket bog which makes the peat that works the wilderness for us. Should we stop and walk I know the woven hues would soft creak and gently give beneath my boots. The air would clean my mind of thoughts and cotton grass would catch the pale light.
But we drive on – turning fast, the wide sky meets the curve of the road and
my heart freefall floats as lapwings tumble an iridescent sheen then safe
Soon we will reach the place where silent woodland dells give dreaming shadow space to siskin and russet deer. The mountains will cluster near in blued swathes of spring, where the beck is running and the creatures thrive.
© W Laurence