In the Glen
A gentle breeze sways the waters
peaceful mirrored surface.
Fading light weaves between the ripples,
shadows dancing with a dichroic radiance.
No wind whipped waves lashing
the snow covered beach.
No visitors skinny dipping
in the icy cold depths of the loch.
No sound of feast hunters
scurrying through the undergrowth.
The piercing eyes of the barn owl
quietly staring, patiently waiting.
No traffic danger lurking,
deer lick salt from the tarmac.
No dogs running loose, free to chase
the vulnerable, pregnant cows.
People cocooned in their stone cottages
A façade of bravery, overlaying fear.
Rules, restrictions, isolation, queues.
The unknown, unseen virus is here.
Copyright © Sharon Gregory | Year Posted 2020
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