The hills above Loch Eil clinging on to morning mist, Lochaber, Inverness-shire, Scotland.
Poem.
Mysterious.
Enigmatic.
Other-worldly.
Like a scene from “Middle-Earth.”
Mists cling to the breathing forests
on a calm, grey morning in late autumn.
Subtle, mellow hues mingle and mix on the slopes
like water-colours on an artist’s palette.
The uniform bottle-green of the pine forest.
Low, yellowy-white and grey clouds linger above, as the sun strains to break through.
The purple-grey hills of Loch Linnhe form
a neat, stable, regular back-cloth.
Near the shoreline stands of birch,
now leafless, present a violet haze,
as light fringes their upper canopy.
And this scene is mirrored in the mill-pond stillness of Loch Eil.
Snapping us out of our mesmeric trance,
the white vehicle, brings a human context,
back from a surreal moment,
and all spectators, promptly back to Earth.
The hills above Loch Eil clinging on to morning mist, Lochaber, Inverness-shire, Scotland.
Poem.
Mysterious.
Enigmatic.
Other-worldly.
Like a scene from “Middle-Earth.”
Mists cling to the breathing forests
on a calm, grey morning in late autumn.
Subtle, mellow hues mingle and mix on the slopes
like water-colours on an artist’s palette.
The uniform bottle-green of the pine forest.
Low, yellowy-white and grey clouds linger above, as the sun strains to break through.
The purple-grey hills of Loch Linnhe form
a neat, stable, regular back-cloth.
Near the shoreline stands of birch,
now leafless, present a violet haze,
as light fringes their upper canopy.
And this scene is mirrored in the mill-pond stillness of Loch Eil.
Snapping us out of our mesmeric trance,
the white vehicle, brings a human context,
back from a surreal moment,
and all spectators, promptly back to Earth.