Hard round folds of green billow down to a cleft
A valley in the high moor
Ahead, a quilt of brighter hue lies piecemeal
Where wild moor has been tamed
As we walk, a second valley reveals itself
A child of fields not moor, sweet and wooded
At the meeting of the valleys we will turn to leave
The quiet high places, these hard round folds of green
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
We are walking on Exmoor this week
Cliff
I cannot take a breath
Swallow air
Rigid ribcage imprisons
Eyes fixated on the depth
A glinting lake beckons below
Made small by distance
Encircled by this cliff face
Glacially ground out
A bowl caverned into the mountain
Looking down exerts a pull
Closer to the cliff edge
Inhaling, stepping back
Defying the call of the cwm.
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Crying the moor
Sedge and moss, peat and grass
Cover the uplands
Sheep run from us, cattle simply watch
Clouds scud past, rain threatens
Stone track turns to muddy path
As we descend to the combe
Past the ruins, past the ponies
Towards the burble of falling water
The fluidity that carved the hill folds
The agent that governs this landscape
Made manifest in Hollocombe Water
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Walking in the Park
They have mown the grass in the park
Well, most of it
The scent is wonderful
It has been left long on the Bronze Age burial mounds
Where the wild grass flowers form a purpled haze
Behind, Foxgloves spike up from the drainage ditch into the hedge
I walk up the southern mound to find the stone marked PEACE
Commemorating more recent dead from civil war
The sky is littered with clouds white and gray
As its blue darkens towards twilight
On this long June evening
After a day of rain
The scent of new mown grass says
Summer
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
