I have man flu so I may not be with you for much longer, my wife agrees! We have returned from the UK and are settling in to prepare the house for winter. But winter is slow in coming. Despite the proximity of December there is no snow on the mountains, and the leaves are still colouring the trees. Wonderful, but the local ski resorts are due to open soon, and it will be difficult if they have another bad year. We wait and watch the sky.
In the meantime, some poetry where I hope to be walking next week – if I survive.
Ice, the cold run of water drops from a height,
glistens with the shifting light through the cloud
that moves into the valley, that drifts over the col,
hovers briefly, then covers what it finds.
The blue granite, buried in frozen loam
slips underfoot. Rowan, its berries red
against the thin snow is poor fare for a winter
coated pony, It is still looking for shelter
and I am no help as it watches me,
standing beneath thin branches.
I am going home.
Its possible I’ve used these pics before. But this is what I’m waiting for. Just a little bit, before I go back to England.