Saturday, February 07, 2015

Pink

At dusk or thereabouts I closed the pop-hole of the hen-house-on-wheels. Inside the birds made their crooning, settling down sounds. Hen-talk for 'sleep well.'  All is still and silent and as it should be. Not a breathe; hushed perhaps by the dank mist which has hung over the Long Mountain today.

I stand on the field a while and contemplate the sky. It's pink - not just a slick of cerise on the western horizon but a pale wash in which colour hangs in heavy air, north, south, east and west. Such is the light there is no other colour in the world tonight.

7 comments:

Frances said...

Beautifully described, Mountaineer. xo

Pondside said...

A peaceful moment. I can close my eyes and imagine/

Tattie Weasle said...

Heavenly!

Emma said...

having trouble finding you, but thought you may like to know, Holy Trinity church in Middleton that you visited and wrote about is having a flower festival to celebrate the lovely carvings by Waldgrave Brewser. if you search for the church page on facebook, you should find it, but its on 19th - 21 June. thank you!

Marianne said...

Lovely words Mountainear but nothing for a while?

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