11. Jul, 2021

Calder Valley

The Pennines
Pull their weight up behind
To the summit, straining.
These rocks are solid, dark matter.
How did pedlars and packhorses
Walk up such inclines,
Where at the top the hills roll and buck,
Brumbies with a bracken hide?
Clouds slump in the hollows
Of the old saddlebacks
Where the sunsets like to ride.
That rain is coming in fast
From the West,
Wreathing their sides in a welter of wet.
The foothills are slipping
In the rising river.
Will the valley flood again tonight?

Ruth Enright