The End of May

A walk on the moor today and  (unusually for me) a poem (of sorts)! Mainly composed, or strung together, whilst walking.

Rain drops
Granite rocks
Fronds of twisted bracken,
old and new
Clouds hang,
dark above Kit Hill.

Sheep and ponies graze,
slow and silent
Moving shapes,
on an ancient canvas
A skylark sings,
overhead, 
unseen.

Tumbling tors,
top the greening heights
Broken rocks of rose-coloured hue,
scattered,
on the sloping ridge
Now with upward steps,
I go, 
beneath a darkening sky.

Beneath the granite tor,
some shelter from the rain
Showers sweep the moor.
The distant hills,
all detail lost,
just silhouettes.
in shades of grey.

Later,
when rain has cleared,
a view of distant Brentor Church
Perched atop a granite hill,
its tower crowned, 
by whitened cloud.
Built in gratitude,
or so its said,
for safe delivery from,
the tempest of the sea.