Nanjizal

West of here the ground lay far more rutted as if jarred by itself and its own strength; tugged at by time and storm from the soft core of central earth, covered in autumn by yellow gorse and purplish bracken; healing. Rooted in rain moistened peat, toughened by unseen winds, fissures a haven for finch and field martin, breeding.
Land heaves itself through the dankness of winter again, uprising as a cool spring fills; reaching the womb of sea at the breach of old Zawn Pyg, where cliffs arch inwardly like praying hands.  Shimmering beneath September's pensive light ....


                               breath floats upwards
                                reciting quiet psalm
                             hymnal birds on the wing


Morning is still, without breeze; skylarks resting easy. Moss nestles in stone crevice, flowers huddle in patches below fields, where a farmer's blade gathers hay each autumn. Randomly tailed by a long succession of wild and wily gulls, lingering close to paths of summer's guests; past echoes gone ....


                                pastures whisper
                           reeds rustle in wet banks
                             overhead sun lowers


I cast sun shielded eyes toward time smoothed palms of rock, carpets of emerald lichen, and a slithering of tide borne weed; resting around a cove less known to man but well by a colony of barnacles, who cling to each torr as if life and its passage depends on it.

We shall tramp the paths above on bright spring days; feast our gaze further west on an endless line of sea and dipping cloud, fettered by nothing more than common thought ....



                                 seasons roll on
                          rhythm of earth enduring
                            learning curves of man