Drive Time Around Wharfedale

Tender is the night the moon does gently sway, reflections from your eyes, gives one a taste of your ways. Dancing leaves, the headlights ensnare a rufous finale, as yet another generation gives way to the new. Approaching fog gives one the urge to slow down, while shapely trees play havoc with one’s imagination. Sight and sound blend in harmony, when “Black Foss Cascade” we go by, rampage rushing water just a complexity in the rain. Withered old man staggering, rustic features caught in a reflective mode, when pushing his home wayward in a supermarket trolley, aided by moonlit cat’s eyes. New bypass smooth and variably, manageable liken to a new exercise book till fingerprinted saturation takes hold. Local men, local stone, one conceives when witness to the resurging art of dry stone walling, taking place along the highways, pastures and garth. A sad reminder, when “St Peter’s” comes into view, mixed with happy memories flooding back of a grandmother, laid within its walled sanctuary. Cruising upon the “Beacon” westward sights create incredible mental images, fuel for past wanderings, the mind a compiled haven. 96FM, belts out yet another blast from the fifties, giving one’s ego a shivering reminder of a reflected past. “Moor Lane” allowing reality to surge back, the view as beauteous as ever! “This whole nurtured birthplace of mine that lays embedded in one’s conscious, gives up nothing of its secrets, only imparts them occasionally, to a select enchanted few!” © Harry J Horsman 1991