Scotland

The tall towering mountains

shadowy, like a furrowed brow.

Mist that skims and swirls over hills

and through the valleys.

The foam of thunderous waterfalls;

slivers of white carved into green.

Meandering drunkenly, the stone walls

attempt to pen in the sheep

whose frantic bleating,

laughing,

crying echoes

as the wind grieves

and the rain splatters against the windowpane.

Dark, mysterious and beautiful.

Bleak, damp and no signal.

Reviews

[jdt]

Loving another richly descriptive piece from you. Stand-out moment:
"...the sheep
whose frantic bleating,
laughing,
crying echoes
as the wind grieves..."
Gorgeous. And then a witty little closer to round it off. Great.