The bleakest months

In winter’s bleakest dark-day months
when winds whip in from churning briny sea
and wraith-clouds storm and race each other –
grey shades scudding o’er ragged countryside –
ravens soar and call for war into the solitary void;

when only rocks will shelter sheep from rain,
tumbled down through browning gorse and broom,
still stonefenced pastures hold their brilliant green
from white-dressed hills down to steely waves,
and fog-kissed leaves sparkle in the gloam;

Those cruel months would call me out to stand,
hands skyward,
to watch and feel and breathe the power of the land.

 

 

The cruelest months, I find, are the most beautiful. NaPoWriMo day 4.

 

 

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9 thoughts on “The bleakest months

  1. This is so stunning, in rhythm and visuals. Those soaring ravens, the stonefenced pastures holding their brilliant green, (ok, all of it)…if only it weren’t so COLD in the wind, I’m come stand with you! 😉

  2. Very nice. I love the feeling of being wrapped up in wild weather. There is something so elemental and alive about it. You have portrayed both the weather and the love of it very well. Nicely done.

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