1. SPRING ON HOLNE MOOR

While an ever-running stream bubbles,
Coursing down its bed of sand and stones,
Overhead the larks soaring, calling –
All is calm, all is still,
All is spring.

Sometimes the wind sighs softly, far away –
Breathing in, breathing out.
Only a whisper ruffles the gorse,
Lightly touching rocks, that have stood sentinel for years,
Undisturbed, silent witnesses.

Meanwhile, I walk the turf of dormant grass,
A spring to my step of velvet moss,
A bed around me underfoot.

As my eyes go a-wandering
Across distant rolling hills and tors,
Blue haze casts its mantle far and wide.


2. SPRING AT CROSS FURZES

A well-worn track, bounded by its hedges,
Brambles, bracken, nature’s own spontaneous harmony
Watches over freshly-ventured badger sets.
Dog violets shine, the twinkling jewels of March.

Here is our passage to the open moor
Where Harborne Man, the menhir of the medieval land,
Standing like a sentry guard,
Salutes a passing crow in flight.

Newborn lambs call to their mothers.
Springtime brings her promise. Life goes on.
We renew. We take stock. We take hope.

These were both written in April 2002 from impressions jotted down while walking on Dartmoor, Devon, England. A 'menhir' is a tall upright memorial stone, of which there are many on Dartmoor, usually erected in medieval times or earlier