Beacon Fell

Find
The freshness
Of fuchsias
In the hedgerow
After rain,
Hope of clemency
In a curving cloud
And turn again
Along a forest path
Greenly dim,
To feel kind fingers
Sink
Into the softest moss
And taste its saltiness
Along the tongue
So to lift the head
Take deep breaths
And reach the roundness
Of the hilltop cairn.


A prosaic point of triangulation

JL August 21 12:51