Last time I was at Annie's, I took a few photos of the scenery near her home. This is the little lane which leads on up into the mountains. I have always loved driving deeper into the wildness of this area. Its beauty inspires me to jot down notes of what I see, and my last few visits have seen me pulling over in the car and feverishly writing down a few lines of poetry, to be worked on and improved later. Here is one of the "poems" (well, bit of writing anyway) that came from this wild and untamed landscape.
LATE WINTER IN THE MOUNTAINS
A carapace of moss spews over boulders -
Disrupting harmony of drystone walls, and
In the sparrow brown of last year's leaves.
Tumbles of small birds swarm.
In beech trees, trunks plastered emerald from
Winter's steady drip,
Blind buds listen for spring.
Ancient boundaries slew with knotted roots,
Which heave boulders with nonchalance, and
A dank miasma of moss slimes the boggy valleyWith a creeping velvet breath.