By a Mountain Road
The traveller halts
where water,
cold from the rock's flank,
tumbles to a hollow
edged with lichen
and tiny star-like flowers.
The road,jumbled stone
unmarked by wheel-track,
climbs between cliffs of fir trees
under a narrowing band of sky.
But here,
the plain lies clear to view:
white farms,roads linking;
the tower of a village church;
fields turning dull gold
with the advancing season;
the blue lines of streams.
Beyond,beyond all,the great river
hanging in the deep sky.
He kneels,drinks from cupped hands,
then eats his bread,
wondering...
'Down there,where afternoon
burns on clustered roofs,
stands the house,
kitchen door opening
on smooth lawn,
garden chair
in the sheltered corner;
an upturned book...
'There was a day'- he frowns -
'like any other,yet
for ever marked unlike;
the day,not once looking back
I left the house,
the sun-filled garden,
the book in mid-sentence...'
A wind sounds,high
among the branches,
cloud covers the sun;
the air moves cold.
He shivers,stands,
then climbs on
over the uncouth stones,
between darkening trees.
Copyright © Bernard Gilhooly - All Rights Reserved