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Drizzle, Mist and Quiet Joy
Soft mist or super fine, lightest, drizzly rain
Not sure which it was of the two was true
Starting out along a familiar woodland lane
I marvel at the thousand faces of the same
Place I have for years wandered through
Most of it hides from view this day
Just fifty metres in any direction clear
Then falls the shrouded backdrop play
Clopping unseen riders chattering gaily
Hearing them invisibly coming near
None of my favourite ‘Big Birds’ call
They seem stop-at-home in the wet
I imagine them huddled up in some tall
Tree deeper in the wood or scarp hill fall
With patience to wait to feed later yet
Seriously slip-sliding on a cambered path
Muddy spreading puddles now demand
Some focus to avoid a cold mud bath
With chosen steps I hold a tree as a staff
Preventing a hurly-burly roll before I land
The Saxon village shapes below cannot be seen
As all paths at this point climb and link
The mist thickens higher up and seem
Like low cloud in a mysterious movie scene
Yet in familiarity nothing scary here I think
Soaked to the skin and cloaked in mist
Surrounding landscape lost from sight
Hat back on to help the chill desist
My gloves un-pocketed to cosily enlist
Still a huge pleasure in dim midwinter light
The sheep cluttered crown of this dismal place
Gave some perspective through the drear
Still closing dampness to start a downhill pace
Path lost, so found the wrong gate at the base
My right handed gait brought me this to face
A left turn quickly put the route to right
And back to where I knew I should be
Cloud clears putting mystic mist to flight
Green fields of winter cabbage bright
As my age old path down the valley I see
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