08-14-2013, 05:43 PM
An evergreen ocean of rolling hills;
the broad expanse of England's heathered spine.
Captive Sunday ramblers
with gnarly blackthorn staffs.
A string of Limestone monoliths spread
across the moor, broken strands of time.
Tired waterfowl would alight on mercurial waters
in a flap of webbed feet and violent wings.
A thousand threads of white as rippled
across a canvas of Picasso's blue.
Kestrels hovered, pressed against the wind
waited on the wing before they dove.
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