Mid-Winter Magic, Ingleborough

I.
Following a pathway of foot-jewels to the capsized summit

IngleboroughII.
Leaving low lying lands whose gyres and waterfalls climb

View toward IngletonIII.
Entering the site of undecided cloud wars

Clouds from IngleboroughIV.
My shadow touches the trig-point leaving my body’s mechanics behind

Ingleborough Trig-PointV.
Clouds volley my shadow into the valley

Ingleborough towards TwistletonVI.
Ash trees shake snowfall down limestone’s spine

Ingleborough Pavement  - CopyVII.
Crescent moon blinks a snow-smile and winks out until next time

Crescent Moon over Park Fell

Birch Wood

Birch trees. Carr Wood

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a land of ash with no future.
Out of the ice age they came, colonizers
Silver-black and delicately snake skinned,
Shedding white edged leaves on the ash-clad winds

And singing do you remember, remember
The ice age and peat and lost Vindolanda,
Sentinel cities and burying oaths
Enstyled on bright birch to placate the world?

And singing do you remember, remember
The strange black peal of the blacksmith’s hammer,
Street lights of amber and echoing roads,
Cities estranged by the gathering smoke?

And singing do you remember, remember
How empire fell that fatal November,
Civilized monuments crashing to dust,
Swaying white fields and the soft song of ghosts?

Silver-black and delicately snake skinned,
Shedding white edged leaves on the ash-clad winds
Out of the ice age they came, colonizers.
Their land was ash, with an unknown future.

Birch trees, Carr Wood