An evergreen ocean of roiling hills;
the broad expanse of England's heathered spine.
Captive Sunday ramblers
upheld by gnarled blackthorn staffs.
Strings of limestone monoliths spread
like litter on the moor;
broken strands of time.
Tired waterfowl alighted on mercurial waters
in a demure flap of webbed feet and violent wings.
A thousand threads of white rippled
a canvas of Picasso's blue.
Kestrels hovered; heads to the wind
searching heath and sky.
2nd edit thanks goes to tom and anyone else who's helping me :J:
1st edit.
Quote:Her Special Place
A purple ocean over rolling hills;
that broad expanse of England's heathered spine
it held us captive, two Saturday ramblers.
Hiker's crooks, and boots ready to stride
the granite altar. Spread throughout the moor
it was our solace, our place of worship.
We'd watch as tired waterfowl alit
on mirrored planes of silver painted ponds.
A thousand threads of white as ripples pushed
across a canvass of Picasso blue.
The Kestrels hovered hard against the wind and
waited on the wing before they dove.
original
from the mentor thread