Northern Fells

And as I tread these stark northern hills,

rain clouds the lungs,

infects the vision,

of all who sink, so-far, into these grey horizons.


Two hundred years and more of the very first industrial smog

have sunk, deep, into these stone villages,

set, like concrete, into these

sodden, sheep-ridden hills.


And in the pub

this worn-down, sepia-mid-afternoon light,

shadows a lonely man,

who drinks in the half-light.

Buttermere Lake, with Part of Cromackwater, Cumberland, a Shower ...

◄ Hetaclitus the Obscure



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