|South Yorkshire Run, Digital Photograph|
Ravens flock patrolling desert pastures,
Gargoyles keep watch before lone farmsteads.
The muffled chimes of hilltop bells
betray the sound of silence.
Shiny rifts of blue disrupt the leaden mantle.
While duly taking note of that and more,
I scud in search of other tokens,
subtler to recognize as such
and harder to get hold of.
Up Long Lane, down Mortimer Road,
Under a fiercely-torn-apart runaway sky,
Pushed forward by days-gone-by,
Poet’s Notes: A run when most people are still sleeping or sipping their coffee is what I usually do first thing in the morning on New Year’s Day. This year I happened to be in South Yorkshire, at my wife’s parents’, and such an early run over the windswept, deserted moors had a particular taste. Recent and old recollections assailed me step after step while beholding the wild landscape all around (some of which is depicted in the accompanying photo that I took with my cell phone as I ran), and kind of mingled with my thoughts.