Ullswater - Poem by Mark Murphy
It is not with any apology we walk
the silt and pebble of this shoreline –
through time and space we ache
to crack the spell our other selves
have made. Although we are not new
there is reason enough to misbehave.
Because there is no other place
where branch and twig mend
and past and present interlace
we spend the day tranquil as rain
not yet fallen. This is the first leaf
of the season, the first primrose
of spring, the first kiss to take
form – whispered in the morning
with delicate breath. See.
There is no one else here besides us.
We make the lake our own –
the whole thing is possible. At once
the cirrus sky asserts its living
breath and we breathe certain
in the knowledge of our simple
passing; Gowbarrow behind,
Birk Fell before, and the journey
to and from only just begun.
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