Friday, 12 April 2013

The Day Spring Opened


You know the season’s opened

When the lapwings’ cries clot the air.

When the heat’s been ratcheted up.

When new lambs bounce ecstatically, ceaselessly.

When curlews’ calls are everywhere – everywhere.

And the skylarks.

They are this season.

It belongs to them. To us.

This is fantastic.

Everything’s right.

Everything’s in place.

The hawks on the rocks; doing what they do.

What they’ve always done.

All chained to an unbreakable history.

 A heritage no one wants to break.


The sun. The moor. The hills.

They invite. Hint. Ask you to go deeper.

To find that something.

That unity between us. What we share.

Out here - what are we searching for?

We search and search and never find. Never will find…

Or we’ve found it but don’t know it.

Perhaps just being here is enough.

The being the land gives us is enough.

Why want, or need, more?

There is no more.

[Source: around the crags, moors and fells of Embsay Moor, between Embsay village and Barden Moor, near the town of Skipton, North Yorkshire, northern England.]

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