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.