Green III

The day has turned bright
green and all the bushing
plants are soused in
mist and insistent
drizzle.  The loch was
glass-like with tiny
ripples and the low cloud
hung there like gauze.
The shore pebble-smooth
we stood and took-in
the length of the water
disappearing into ranks of
hills and pale sky.  Such
water falling, such
water there, vast deep
loch of secrets.  I watch
the dripping skies, the
dripping leaves.  A soft
day in the high lands,
soft day of ease.

One Year Round The Sun
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