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 Paul