and here are some scribblings I made on the train
....
my shadow must be ten feet long
as I walk to the train
and gaze up at the moor
longing to be there again
for being there among the clouds
where all is fresh and all is clear
full lunged you sing of the spring
without a care of who may hear
....
you ask why without asking
no answer comes from beyond
the window - for no bird
understands the concept of why
today green replaces voguish brown
it just is - just as today
black faced lambs go under the fence
in gangs to the woods
to a glade where bluebells grow -
at the snapping of a twig
they start like deer - for the hole -
....
across the valley rain hangs like ghosts
phantom shafted rainbow shimmered
they turn inwards entwining
sweep southwards on the wind
....
high clouds
low clouds
slide on oil
slipping
without grain
or grist
evaporate
without need
or mist
....
what is that smell
of the green gloop
that I piss on
in the train
it is some kind of citrus
but with melon
and it stains me
- the smell not the piss
....
oh and something from my notebook about sunday's walk
....
up close middleton is not as expected
but what strikes me most is
the lack of traffic noise
on the far moor bank
one must travel far out on the bingley
causeway
to evade the wash of cars
but here you simply ascend the
gentle wooded rises
to enter a simple world of peace
The Blue Book
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