Brecon Beacons in Winter

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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…….

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