The Yorkshire Moors – at Darnholme

High way above all mortal things

I touch the white scudding vaporous clouds of heaven,

In views that capture gold’s and ambers, burnt and used

in shades of burnished Autumn.

I breathed the air of peaty leaves dry and trodden,

across damp moss and rustic trampled ferns beneath my feet a story tells…

 

High in England’s lush green land,

the last of wayward Summer reaches my nose,

crunchy cinders beneath my feet call this beauty to me.

The bending track lays silently beneath the ancient stones of tiny handmade bridges,

as round the bend comes chugging “Nunney Castle” it’s white plumage of steam and tooting calls.

Faces press closely the panes of vision, recalling the many journeys made across these pastures, vales and leas of changing hues.

 

This beloved land softly speaks to me, this right, this heritage, this beauty.

This much loved England…