I wander again into the wilderness of
lichen rocks and dried mullen heads.
I build a cairn to commemorate my visit.
I keep coming back to the
same jumping off point.
There is the lake of circular reflection,
of ripples in gold arcing motion.
A magnet is pulling me inexorably closer
to ancient, immvable mountains which
seem to be ponderously alive.
There are many possibilities,
many equations to explore first.
One is the wheeling bird, the
oyster catcher that thinks
I am an invader, a potential
plunderer of its wealth.
Another is the sudden movement
of the rabbit, its heart pounding
in its rush for safety.
And then there is the intangible,
the air awake with that life force
that trembles under my feet,
flickers through me upwards & outwards.
Them is a thread here,
gossamer fine that I must cling to
until it wraps itself about me
like a life line.