White water. White out.
It screenplays past your unblinking eyes.
Erases a city from your mind.
Brushes away all the thoughts you need to discard.
Roars through you.
Leaves you captive on a flooded shore.
You hear only the friction of water on a mission.
You fall asleep in deafening white noise.
Dream only of dancing waves.
Pathways let go of their wish to become streams.
We took to climbing through oak forests carpeted in tree ferns.
Trailed by clicking wrens.
Slate fences beside an abandoned farm.
I hear the hammer blows inside my joints.
Flats heaved up from the dripping mine.
Squared into a sheepfold.
Stamped close and true.
They made the bridge with what was to hand.
What the river had eaten underground.
Dragged by pony cart.
Roped across and made to sit sure.
Left us a fine way to cross, or linger.
A different valley. A different climb.
Higher this time. More open.
Views I have never gazed.
Blue eyes of tarns.
Gravel screes that beckon your vertigo.
White mirrors of sea that crows fall across.
Five little oceans you can turn to gaze at.