In the high places
A veil of serenity
Soothes the wildest heart
Savage beasts bow to beauty
And passion wears purity
A moorland dawn. The heather is in bloom, its delicate honey fragrances the morning for me alone. No bees yet seek the purple heart of the hills, no walkers share the stones. The valley still sleeps beneath a coverlet of cloud. Humanity here is no more than a memory. I am alone with beauty.
It does not matter where, this is my place. Where the shore between the heather and the mists is a meeting of world. Where dreams are shaped of flowers and stones wear the faces of my ancestors. No matter where the world leads me, my heart is here and I am home.
Tall the cliffs of stone
That mark the entry to my heart’s domain,
Wild and empty in its vastness
The solitude of living earth.
The wind lifts the heart
And bears it through the storm
To where the lichen crusted rocks
Cling to the clouds.
Part of my heart remains there
Scattered with the ashes of a lost love
Mingled with the joy and pain of memory,
Of childhood wonder and a lover’s kiss.
Deep the roots which bind me to that land,
Like the weathered pines that cling for life
To the purple hillside…
Genuflecting, but standing, still,
Naked in the mist.
Ice carved in aeons past
Into a landscape of dreams,
Marked by ancient hands
With figures of Light,
That I may stand beside them,
And recognise my kin.