Enter this space, at cloud pace.
Smooth your footsteps into
the valley. On the old paths,
those cold paths – where drovers
whistled-in and wandered their cattle.
Carving their ways into the landscape.

Roll in, on a two-wheeled thing.
A downhill spin of track and trail.
Through summer’s sunbeam, winter’s hail.
No two days are the same.

Listen-in, to nature’s happenings.
Mountains flex and stretch their
deep time into sky. Nearby, a spring
is bubbling onto land, into light.
Some kind of birth, re-birth.

There are stars multiplying above
hill and heather. Sprinkling themselves
upon lake, and melting in the mood
and movement of river.

You could be swallowed-up here.
Pinned by the weight of stillness. In every
empty thing, there is life, living.
Dance on, like the wind, like all the wild
things that welcome you.

Explore More Voices of the Park

As the Kingfisher Flies
Rare Earth
Mountain Song