Thursday, 17 January 2013

Bleak




Mournful wind song shudders the old aerials. 
Solid thud of shotgun sounds from the banks of the swollen river, under a plain sky coloured like thick ice. 
Any leaf that has not fallen shivers in the moan of the wind. 
Birds' song carries a restless note. 
Beauty strikes starkly. 
Beyond the river, a faint view of moorlands, where any creature can live and die and never be known. 
Bones are weathered, lay stoic in clumps of enduring grass.




7 comments:

  1. And with this posting, I can see a reflection of those who have lived and died, never really being known.

    Thank you, Lily.

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  2. I'd like to think it is someone's job to note the living and passing of every creature.

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  3. I love how you make the cold and dormant details of winter riparian into a living organism, huge and whole. My compliments.

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  4. I love this...you gave life to this unknown being...beautiful.

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  5. Much response to the creatures who live without note: hence the following post! (That + snow)
    Thank you all for your thoughtful provocations :-)

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  6. Oh I am loving your words :). B

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  7. Thank you Buttons- your descriptions of farm life are rather life affirming :-)

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