Thursday, 24 January 2008

Betws Mountain

A thin line of birds
pencil drawn in the dawn sky,
abstracted clouds glow.

The town still sleeping
in the lee of the mountain,
grass prickles wetly.

Yellow light unfolds,
washes the slopes and the hills,
bathes them all gently.

Gorse throws spiky shapes
tumbling over sheep tracks,
dips them in shadow.

The last orange lights
wink out in the town below,
a lone bird circles.

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