What made them write?
The greens. The browns.
The mountains smooth as velvet.
Cragged shoulders hardened against the stinging wind.
The black bodied sheep
Dotted purposely in a scene of greens and browns.
The curved shape of the winding road,
Carved by shadows of their guided stones.
This is the world where words are made.
Wild emotions blackened on paper
By the vivid images of grumbling hills
Painted by the boiling power of pen and ink.
Wordsworth, Coleridge and Potter.
Wrote it down for all to read.
They wandered slowly in their
Clouds of prompted wonder.
Sheep’s wool wrapped ‘round a rusting barb.
A blend of white and black.
The graying entrance to another scene
Of stark trees painted on a wind burned hill.
Moss covered stones top an ancient wall.
As recent rain paints wetness into the day.
My walk continues
And there it is below the softening ridge. Grasmere.
Denis Hearn 2019