Writing Place

Mountain Walk

The sun slides behind mountain tops. Gold lights the land. Blacks creep out of valleys. Fading rays gild the loch with silver. Midges rattle in moving clouds with teeth. Perfumes of peat mix with bracken and pine. Cool air lifts goosebumps on bare skin. Storm clouds brew in the east.

A veil of milky mist closes in. Details turn to blurs. Shadows settle in shapes. Steady steps stumble on a stony path. Lightning echoes in a vaulted sky. Earths bulk decreases under heavens space. A roar, a crack. Rain pours down. Water hits hard terrain. A million rivulets run over everything.

Garden Pond

Golden, navy blue and moss green together like a painting that shouldn’t make sense but does, in harmony and with beauty, as well. Little white flowers on thin long green stems, delicate spindly forms, bordering its edge. There is both figure and ground in the whole image of the pond. Depending on what I focus on I can see either shapes of rocks and plants, and lily pads reaching for the sun or else reflections of surrounding trees and skies; I cannot see both at the same time. The deepest part of the pool, at the centre, stays hidden in impenetrable black; no light gets in or out.

On warm days frogs sit sunbathing, feeling rays on their spotted backs, while their feet keep cool in the wet. If I keep still and watch, things happen. Insects skate across its surface with buoyant feet, birds and wasps stop to drink, leaves fall in and ripples appear – I wonder where the vibrating rings go next.

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