Sometimes when walking

Sometimes when walking

My feet drag in the heavy grass

The mud of the moors

The smell of peat.

Through a scud of clouds

I catch a glimpse of a limpid sun

I can almost hear it apologise

As it dips in and out

Dodging down below the treeline.

They are scarecrows in winter

A misshapen bunch

Old soldiers

Marching as from war

Limping drunkenly

Their boots weighed down

By struggle.

I would talk to them

But they lack a clear focus

In their haste

Humankind just an

Obstacle to progress

As they make their way

Across to the far horizon

Falling off the edge of the world

Into the abyss.

Nothing tastes like

The rime of frost on my lips

A snowflake melting

On the tongue.

I try to speak

But the words catch in my throat

It is better

To remain in silence

After all.