gazing into the wavering winter sun,
earth and sky become one mantle of silver shimmering mist,
clouds hover stubbornly refusing to wander away,
obscuring the sun's caress from.my face.

the wind has decided to breeze away early,
anxious to keep some prior arranged appointment,
cattle tracks in the mud remind me of the sign on the gate
'bulls in field"
noting the 's'. (as if one isn't bad enough).

I meet a backpacker lurching
precariously through the dead heather
carrying an entire house on his back,
studiously trying to avoid deep hidden puddles.

gnarled trees with birds nest 'hair-dos'
cling tenaciously among the crags,
the birds flown off to sunnier climes
leaving the whispering moors in their wake.

heavy brooding clouds must insist on following me,
intent on hammering me with their stair-rod rain,
air distills into a denser fog-saturated mist
reluctantly my frozen feet turn for home..