The undulating spines of misty hills
crouch sharp and black below
billowing clouds that pitch and roll.
We walk along the lakeside track,
a jagged, treadled seam,
pierced and riddled with the gleam
of ancient cobbles, flints and stones,
skiddy with old leaves and stale lake breath.
Along the path, the oaks feign death
but, couched in the bosom of the hills,
the remains of the sun silver water with light,
creating a photograph of black and white.
Kim M. Russell, 2018