Wild Moment: Carol McNeillPublished: 28th November 2016
A poem and collage featuring wild places in the Rusland Valley, South Lakes, where I live: the moor and the old moss...
Moor and Moss - A Rusland Horizon
Along the lanes towards the moor
Stone walls cut through the land until their comfort ends
There, the space, our place to know and too much to tell, I saw
Its store of secrets found in the unfolding boundaries of each horizon.
The myriad mottled browns, seeping bog & old grey snow
Lie by splats of timeless rock carved out by centuries of rains.
Our moor, vast with endless treasures on show
I found sharp diamonds of silver wetness and soft white slops of weary sheep.
Lone pine and holly claim a sense of place
Locating beacons mark progress with cairns of hopeful travel.
Old commoners and quarry men will make a case
Their heritage held by faint trods and hidden piles of spoil.
Soon sounds change with each spring dawn
Skylarks rising with bubbling song.
The forever cackling prance of sparkling becks born
High, descending, impatient for lower meadows and sea.
Down to the winter moss to find the quiet of old
The tussocky, sodden crown corralled by old grey pines
Sucks and squelch abound while we watch this water world unfold
Rising up through tall reeds below the squawking heronry.
The deer calves drop as mayflies cloud the brighter sky
Water boatmen and fritillaries flit their fleeting destiny.
While the dragonfly waits for new wet wings to dry
A vibrant kaleidoscope of soft sound hangs with us on our way.
The boarded ways lead into this mysterious grove
The water trapped and still, draws many to its home.
Rain and tides drown the path and journeys yet to come
I stand awhile with hope to glimpse a deer or elfish dance.