It was January; water was stripping
The hills of anything
Loosely tied to the landscape, its leavings
Littering the valleys
Blocking the arteries.
Nothing expected; the westerly flow
Scouring still, driving hard,
Giving no quarter to less rigorous
Spirits seeking the warmth
Of quieter seasons.
Iced Winter firestorm; the bitterness fights
To chill the bones, to scrape
The fluid that ferments
Vigour in the limbs, struggling step by step
To the wild heights of cleansed
Rock, whipped clean, power showered.
Progress is twisted; shoulders turned to slice
Vicious punitive blasts,
Eyes lowered to escape
The crushing shadow of distant summits
Standing like dark chimneys
Industrial, ice flecked.
Snow strikes us like rice, hurled now in fury
Romance bleached, leached away
To polluted cities.
The summit was a shock, coming at us
From the mist, locked away
With the chill whistling winds.
Well, the summer heat wave seems to have ended…….