On the Southern Upland Way.
by Richard Sumner
My dry boots crunch along the gritty track
here in a shallow vale. It leads to woods
of conifers, but no machine has passed
this way in weeks, and fragrant thyme and moss
now spreads across and decorates the stones.
Alongside grows a marge of coarse deep grass
studded bright with yellow hawkbit flowers.
Bright yellow too, a four-inch dragonfly
comes helicopter-weaving through the grass
on this, the hottest summer afternoon.
I hear the slap of water in my flask
already getting warm. My feet are warm
as well, for many miles now lie behind
and more miles lie ahead. No need to rush-
I've hours yet before my evening stop.
I'll take a rest and maybe have a doze
if I can find a pleasant patch of shade. .
At last I see my path turns left aside
to climb a turfy sheep grazed hill, and there
a knarled old rowan throws a shadow patch
onto the grassy bank. This is the spot! ...
I lie at ease upon the sloping grass
and half shut my sun dazzled eyes, as still
the sunshine filters through the trembling leaves
in softly dappled ever moving light.
When I arrived the sheep all scurried off
in nervous haste, but as I blend at ease
into the landscape still, they amble back
to claim again their own cool patch of shade
beneath a nearby larger sycamore.
And as I contemplate and doze in peace
with sleepy ears more sensitive to sound,
I hear their footsteps on the hollow ground
and little grunts and noises as they graze,
the buzz of flies, soft on the summer air,
and the swish and flow of sycamore leaves
ever so gently swaying in the breeze ....
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