In Marshwood Vale…

 

In Marshwood Vale

Standing on Pilsdon Pen
the last twits of nighttime hunters
share the lightening sky
with the strident call of cockerels
who sense rather than see the day
A thick blanket of mist
sits across the low-lying land
A silver veil that muffles the senses
Somewhere a tractor and trailer
cross a rutted field
The load…
a rhythmic banging bass
behind the sweet notes of a wren
the first bird of the morning chorus
A Plover and a Crow add voices
to the waking auditorium
Spectral trees emerge slowly
from the cloying blanket of mist
Languid shanks of cable
span the gaps
in a line of skeletal poles
receding…
to the mist locked valleys below
A pale peach accent to the sky
hints at the possibility of dawn
Distant hilltops
poke like islands
from the waters
of a silent silver estuary
Stubborn mists
cling to the fields and trees
This gradual unveiling
This restoration of colour
to a silvered landscape
Is another extra ordinary day
for Marshwood Vale

– Peter Roe – September 2021

Peter moved to Broadwindsor earlier this year – you can read more about him HERE.

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