Autumn on the foothills of Cader Idris

written after an Autumn visit to Dôl Idris; a most beautiful place.

I do not always look at trees once summer is gone.

Instead, I pay regard to the rising of the wind,

the bare stems of flowers, a leaf falling on grass;

and the city is far away from this lovely place,

hidden behind the brooding hills

that seem older than time itself.

Further out, the horizon slips to infinity,

making shadows from a world beyond mine,

whilst a lone raven, late and hurrying low,

races the embered sun;

the rhythmic beat of his wings

only stirring the air, making no sound,

save that of survival of the fittest.

I watch him land, dark as charred paper

as he settles on a familiar tree.

A raucous cacophony follows,

then silence, as if summer and 

something else besides is gone;

and on the ground, leaves gather, 

deep in rustled conversation.

I find a rock, still warm from the day

and sit for a while, imagining the last

white clouds as ghost ships, sailing 

through miles of cool blue light;

then turn my attention to the half 

denuded trees.  A chorus line

sillhouetted against the indigo sky; 

shifting and shaping as they bend

to the rising of the wind.

Suddenly then, rain spots down,  

a typical September whimsy, 

disposed to catch the unwary. 

But I have visited here many times 

and have already turned; the city

beckoning with its million neon lights,

though none so bright as the moon haloed night

Reviews

[Crowley]

Sounds like a really lovely place. Your description was a blanket and the visuals where as relaxing as I could wish they were. The tone and pace make a perfect backdrop for an autumn day in any beautiful place. Great piece!!