Last Thursday - in
good company - I drove over the tops between Weardale and Teesdale, defying the
weather which had of late been threatening and snow-laden. Up there, un-fogged
by people and a crowd of concerns it is
possible to clear oneself of the present feel the deep past
 |
| The Lumpy Land |
Here are some lines from my notebook
Passing through this
lumpy land,
rumpled hard by men who, in ancient times,
quarried marble
to build cathedrals
and dug coals to
heat the hearths
of the great and the good
Up here I encounter
the wild places
under my own skin: the
layers of self
embedded in my
genetic structure;
the honeycombs in
my head filled with
un-worded memory, originating
in the prickly wake
of my conception
Icing sugar
snowflakes sprinkle the tops
and lie like silk
ribbons
in the creases of
the brown land
celebrating the wedding of ancient and modern:
between ourselves
and people who - like us -
led lives imbued
with purpose
and thought with
equivalent care
of their children
and tomorrow’s dinner -
the millennia between
us melting
like snow in Spring
sunshine
 |
| Like silk ribbons in the creases ... |
No comments:
Post a Comment