On a hill over Stroud...
We alight from the car
and fall into step
striding upwards on grass
in the soft morning light...
We smile as we greet
the walkers with dogs
and dodge all the drops
still fresh on the ground...
Hollows and mounds
meet at each turn
with splashes of pink
and purple and white...
Cows amble with calves
and stare as we pass
through enormous black eyes
that focus far off...
Graffiti on grass
composed of white stones
shines in the light
with lover's soft glow...
Spanning and clicks
record moments seen
below and around
and straight where we stop...
A seat made of wood
rests on the top
with a plaque with a name
from a century old man...
Groups of black cows
gather and graze
in a hollow below
in a circle of green...
We gaze at the town
spread in patterns of streets
lined with old stone
shaped into homes...
Towers and steeples
salute at the clouds
and guard all the parks
and neat little lanes...
On a hill over Stroud
one morning we walk
with the breeze on our face
and the grass at our feet...
Joy Weare,
20th August, 2011.
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