On the moors 11-04-25
There was a great incline of stone, weathered
amongst the sparsely green valley
whose feet lay at the door of a thatched cottage
and whose head I was treading over now.
A fair stream, no wider than a meter,
had had its pulse dried up by the sun
leaving moss strewn on florid rocky deposits,
ran down the length of the valley
transforming eventually into a river that
sent the local watermills cartwheeling
like ecstatic gymnasts.
In one stride I was over,
hopping onto a small ledge
and (rather regrettably) crushing its treasured plant
underfoot.
Springing upwards, I skirted the boundary of the valley
rising doggedly above the craggy edge
and there, waiting in all its recklessness
was the wind.
Copyright © Shane Zhao | Year Posted 2025
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