There are days

Dear reader,

Like many of us I love walking, leaving behind the insulated world of the car and feeling the strain of pulling this body up gradients and through mud and over streams. I like the sounds, scents and the thoughts on route; which enable me to discover more about myself, my attitudes and my limitations.

The sea empties itself on the welsh hills
Pushing thoughts low to the ground

Ideas like rain
Form pools and streams
They settle into the season
Of winter trees, wood smoke and fire

Settling briefly
Not still
Not dead
But moving in cyclical purpose

This season brings dank darkness
It seeps into the soul
I remember things I would like to forget
Fragility, vulnerability even anger

But there is comfort in the certainty
I live today
I am as brief upon the face of this landscape
As the sudden surges cutting new channels

Today I am filled with years and am satisfied



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