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 bumps 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.
Delicate white flowers on long green stems 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 shapes of rocks and plants or reflections of trees and skies – I cannot see both at the same time.
The deepest part of the pool stays hidden in impenetrable black; no light gets in or out.
On sunny days frogs sunbathe – warm rays on spotted backs, feet cool in the wet.
If I keep still for long enough things happen – insects skate across the surface, birds and wasps drink, leaves fall and ripples appear – I always wonder where the vibrating rings go next.

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