To lean on this gate
is to meditate
upon millions of
comings and goingscattle, sheep, squirrel
racing clouds, windswept
hedge and tree, farmer
headed home for teafield, fells, road, sky and
the buzzard’s sharp cry
set in silence and
presence and absenceof grandfathers and
shepherds and horses
and scythes, caps and coats
old ploughs and voicesacross the lichened
centuries and the
agricultural
penuries, still hereSRM
wind in my wheels 🌱 
The dry stone walls wet with moss, the panorama and the solid trees . Ah! yes, wonderful Cumbria. You describe it beautifully.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was instantly transported by your words, Simon. Xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just love this. One of your best! A real sense of being there in a powerful place of stillness. Great use of rhyme too!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much, all three, for reading, and for your kindness xx
LikeLike
The lyricism of words and photo – this was so perfect. I was there, leaning against the wall, fingers reading the rocks and looking beyond…xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Mimi. Thank you, as ever.
‘I was there, leaning against the wall, fingers reading the rocks and looking beyond’ …
A poem in itself. Or perhaps the opening lines of a longer one … xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Poetry is but one of your prodigious talents, my friend. I fear such ability eludes me…xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
But not so, dear Mimi. Honestly. Who but a poet would author and inspire thousands with a journal named ‘Waiting For The Karma Truck’ ? I mean, seriously! That one perfect image is now firmly implanted in the glad hearts of your innumerable friends, engaged with you in the ‘Stature of Waiting’ (the name of a marvellous book by one of my teachers, himself a really gifted poet) – all over the world! xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am so blessed by our friendship and your faith in me…xxx
LikeLike