He leads me beside a moorland stream (Adapted from Psalm 23)

Join me for refreshment and the occasional ripple as we drink from the moorland stream.

Solitude

After an office day at work:

the Team meeting;

telephone ringing;

 reports writing;

and traffic slowed to a crawl

by temporary traffic lights;

I go for a walk.

 

I discover an evening of blue sky thinking

splashed with cotton white clouds

laced with dusky undertones.

Sparkling colours and darker shadows;

Bright green pastures amid golden brown tresses.

 

My elongated shadow pulls me upwards

acting the comic

and mimic

ahead of me.

The glowing orb of the late August sun

is close to the horizon on the opposite hill.

I lift my face to catch the last warmth of its rays.

A dog yowls;

a responding bark;

Is that the clip clop of horses’s hooves?

 

Beyond, in the valley the drone of distant traffic

and a train siren sounds.

Voices

carried in the still air

above me;

People out of sight

At the foot of Stoodley Pike.

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A soft breath caresses my upturned chin

Light twittering

As swallows flit and dart in zigzags around me

And I snatch the moment

Of refreshment

And communion

In solitude.

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It is over;

as I stride along London Road;

a narrow bridle path over the moors;

Claimed to be a major highway in the faraway past;

 250 miles from our capital city.

Do all roads lead to London?

 

Now I bob among the tussocks

where rutted mud and water blocks my way.

My mobile jangles in my pocket

and I hurtle down the loose gravel lane

The aroma of curry from the house on the corner.

my stomach is rumbling;

I head home to make tea.

 

(Julia Couglan) August 2014

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2 Responses to He leads me beside a moorland stream (Adapted from Psalm 23)

  1. Bette Cox says:

    Beautiful, and so very reminiscent. Thank you.

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