Abandoning our car in the woods
we head off up through the Pastures,
as the low winter sun catches one slope
we pull our fleeced envelope
tight against Natures extremes.
Kestrels, like tethered kites, hover.
Casting their beady eye over
steep, grassy valley sides
where still, cowering prey hide
not daring to break cover.
Shaggy, Highland cattle graze,
as the narrow valley winds its way
between high, banked walls
where echoing calls of crows
break the shortening day.
Water bursts into life from below,
bubbles its way to the nearest hollow
where sheep come down to drink
and ramblers, like us, pause to think
and reflect before we go.