From a Train, Lightly
Sentinel trees hold sway
standing watch through back-lit mists
across the anonymous valley.
Emerging from the white fog
the outline of a black farmhouse,
I am half expecting
a troubled Cathy or
an emotionally disturbed Heathcliffe
to emerge from the door.
The unseen river
divulges its presence
by a meandering, fluid cloud
of pale grey.
grip leafless trees against
a pink-silver streaked sky
as the rumour of a sun becomes clear.
Dawn, ageless beauty, exits
a la droit
as startled sheep again scatter
from the nant’s edge.
We are speeding now towards the light
still hidden by the ubiquitous hills.
A lonely, lost heron mistakes a puddle
for a breakfast pond.
©Christopher Challener December 2009