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
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