Blubberhouses Moor

BLUBBERHOUSES MOOR I have often pondered on words that have been written of your verdant moorside chase, where so many faces you portray to suit each season, the bluest haze of summer, autumn’s golden demise, winter’s alpine crest and spring for her blossom to bare. a moorland bereft no cosmetic piety nature weaves her own While malignant storm clouds threaten the scurrying wild life, an inclement veil cloaks the highest reaches, all that bore a resemblance now shapeless in the mist, gone the track to walk upon, only when the wildest of winds sway the sturdiest of trees, does the sun peep through the canopy. seasonal blending shackles break for to renew nature cuts the chord The mighty noonday sun lifts the chill of the beastly breeze, as I listen to the voice of sullen water blazing a trail on its journey to the river, a far cry from the babbling spring and the wide-open span of the ocean. Yet it is not nostalgia I yearn for, I have many times witness your fickle temperament, for I was born and fused within your many mordant moods, here in this mossy valley for I am a part of that, your blood which runs through me. frozen winter sleeve that blankets the living earth springs jubilation © Harry J Horsman 2018