Coniston
Swaths of purple ripple, breeze blown,
down the hillside to the water's edge
as the early morning sunlight splatters
her span with scattered diamonds.
Majestic, as old as the granite outcrops
surrounding her, she shimmers,
'til the weather takes a downturn.
Afternoon thunder and heavy gusts
whip her to a frenzy, as the mountain
goats and hikers hurry to take shelter,
her complexion now grim and forbidding.
The storms disintegrate, the evening sky
turns red and gold, and peace resumes its reign.
This princess, both petulant and calm,
assumes a sheen like polished glass,
a stillness, a silence, in absolute darkness,
just waiting for sunrise to sparkle again.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2013
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