A sallow basin waiting,
arms open wide from shale beach,
grey as the mist on mountain's shoulder,
a touch of moss tint green
and a mirror sheen,
the sky a cadaver.
Look a little closer,
there’s a penitent shiver,
rings ripple from tickling minnows
and water boatman sculling,
cadis fly dance in the gristle of reeds
shading the shallows
like a five o’clock shadow.
They sway as a breeze
meanders from valley to cairn.
Breath of the balding hills weaving
a music of growth and disease
of sowing, reaping and hill goats
bleating motes of melancholy.
The sun bows out
as the cloud curtains close.
All media used is CC license or my own.
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