Running in the slow lane
A pale wintery light floods the bare furrows
As earth drops her mantle
Laid bare to North Eastern winds
Dark fingered branches
Frame the scene
And steal the unexpected glow
Locking secrets beneath their bows
Protection offered
In elemental fusion
As dry pine needles crunch beneath our boots
We skim the forest edge
Deliberately
To keep the light
And security of forest depths
Deep in thought
Until we turn for home
And into the raw wind that rattles
The towering pines
Redemptive and free.
A well- rounded Robin if ever I did see
Strong and confident
Insulated with down
And astride the bushes a beacon be
Of hope in times as these.
A marauding sky creeps over the skyline
Dramatising the moorland ridge;
Silver- fingered branches
Steal the show
As their naked forms
Stand sentinel on the banks;
The moss - green of the holly
Boasts proudly against the
Impending darkness;
Sharply focused
The eye is drawn
To the silver lane snaking the homeward mile
As the moor vanishes
Blotted out
And heavy drops
Land on the windscreen
Dispersing sideways.
And the rhythmic beating
Begins.
Beyond the blackened pane
Winter’s grip is strengthened
Through fingered stealth
An iron clad armour
Drawn across the land
I feel its cunning-
The fire burns more brightly
In the grate,
A deeper red
To its core;
The heaviness of night
Is carried
Only the setting moon with painted halo
Peeps between the fluted clouds
To break the steel;
And our star
From black to indigo
Intensely builds the dawn.
When against earth a wooden heel
Hammers aloud as stone on steel;
When the Yuletide days of light
Seem most indifferent to that of night;
When the wind pounds, rattling the pane
And the sky relinquishes its frozen rain;
When stripped,the trees, seize ghostly forms
Standing sentinel on the lawn;
When bare stained fields harden at last
Iron-flawed cracks from ice are cast;
When the earth is tired, worn,cross and old
Oh to hunker down out of the cold!
I dream of clouds -
Those castles in the sky;
Wide open spaces and sloping meadows
Rich with summer flowers
Of a picnic beside a babbling brook
Of painted landscapes - pastoral scenes
I dream of looking up into the endless blue
At the vapour trail of a jet up high
I want to dream like a child
Because to dream is to hope
And hope keeps us strong.
And ...we’re past the shortest day!
The last solstice of the year
Obsidian and bleak
The fog all consuming
Dense and rain -clad
Droplets running down the glass
Channelled down.
The celestial ‘Christmas Star’
Of this millennium
Obscured
And hidden
Announcing the advent of
Christmas
Also eclipsed by
The bleakest of news
Borders closed
Nowhere to go
Tiers of restriction
Mirroring
That real story
Two thousand years ago
When everything was closed
Everything tricky
And Heaven came down to Earth.
A lifeline given
Hope in the midst of darkness
A lamp lights our path.
Running has taken a new form since the evenings have become so dark, even before six .
It takes ages to get ready – head torch , fluorescent jacket and nifty lights for the back of my ankles in green and red ( can never remember which way round for port and starboard)!
Once out – it’s great . Total freedom . I’m running slightly slower on account that I can’t really see far in front of my feet and the lanes are running in water. Tonight was a gentle 5.5 km. Despite heavy showers, I stayed dry – unlike yesterday when I got soaked over half an hour.
I am so thankful to feel safe running in the lanes.
Have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
