Mud and Magic
On Monday I went for my patch walk on the dullest, muddiest, coldest day - seemingly uninspiring, dreary and wildlife-free. I thought it seemed SO uninspiring that I'd try, as an exercise, to elevate it into something less mundane, simply by making the effort to turn it into something creative. So here is my poem... Mud and Magic Slanted sleat threads white as it dwindles earthwards The weakling fuit of a drab sky The mudded rivulet of a track rises gently raising my steps Quag and ruck swap places with mire and bog I climb the spine of a buried giant, the Backfilled landfill, now grassy ridge on former midden As a bullfinch schoolboy-whistles A kestrel is animated by my approach, turning it from Standing sentinel still to flightly air-snipping shears Faint shapes of distant Pennine foothill are mist masked A Guassian blur applied to the mast on Winter Hill A bramble scraped attrition of mud-sticky path takes me to the Moss bearded wall at the entrance to R