My back garden Chomolungma

Dreaming in the grass, 
high up on that perfect topographic edge,
I sensed a certain temporal suspension.

Countless aeons passed, 
living still as softened mounds of Malvern Ridge,
a sleeping Goddess on the land recumbent.

Draped in negligee
of Oaken crystal streams and suspended time,
in strange communion with my own perception.

Razor toothed arête, 
born in Vulcan fire to pre-Cambrian design -
before my eyes, a tertiary vision.

Matriarchal Hill,
that saw my birth yet saw the Severn Vale in tropic' climes,
spoke and left me in a state of wonder.

Knowing she instilled,
resting in her ancient ramparts was my soul refined -
my personal back-garden Chomolungma.