Shropshire Hills

Ragleth Hill

It drizzled up to Snatchfield Farm

Poured as we tramped the wood

With views the guide-books recommend

Blocked out, as we stood

Beneath the rowan and the elm

Unable, like the sheep,

To ignore the ever seeping damp

Creep in at neck and feet;

But as we followed through the ferns

Along the velvet path

That leads directly to the top

The rains faded at last

Leaving us to watch the flux

Of summer storms in flight

One second hiding Wenlock Edge

Then flooding it with light

As if the cloud-dome up above

Had choreographed the scene

Etching out each hill in turn

Dissolving black to green

Pinpointing individual sheep

As shadows rushed across

The woods and open moorlands

From Shrewsbury to Ross.

Dizzied by the speed of change

We can no more than stand

A silent centre while the world

Spins almost out of hand;

And all the while the sheep ignore

The marvels that we see

Content to go on munching grass

And letting all things be.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 3.8.22