Eclipse on Dartmoor

Snake of cars, stopping, waiting, thinking –
snake of cars crawling away, laden, crying…

The tors look like crowns in monochrome –
and people set like jewels.

Moving through ferns and old stones
we find a quiet place.
Morning moths rise fluttering from my feet
like single white confetti floating
to rest on green.
Tiny yellow star-flowers with
wetness clinging to Emmaus boots make
Heaven in a wild flower.

Ponies nudging – flicking – whinnying –
staying close together.
Wind furrows ferns like neck hairs under pony tails
and a flat stone waits.
Coolness growing – a patch of warmth to lean on.

Bleating and barking – single sounds on the wind.
People-watching people on the third watch
like small children wanting to get to the top – then
looking all around, staying perfectly alert to everything
– not missing a thing.  Midnight at Christmas.

Darkness descending frame by frame over
an apprehension
of what will be a new day.
Twice in six hours.

Quiet joy to be content
to look ahead
and to deny the urge to rove.
I watch the bewildered foal take milk,
and curl around my knees to
feel the moorland blur into night.

 

 

 

Eileen Walke

Published by

leigh@laladom.world

My dear readers, I live in Manchester, England and would like to share my thoughts of significant people, places and events in my life through this blog. I'm growing old disgracefully in my 74th year, living in a bubble of love blown by my precious friends and family and floating about like Johnnie McGory.

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