Drowning-in-the-wind

The rolling lands are steeped in mystery, grey and cracked granite stands as tall proud tors, hunched trees, bent by the weight of history, Winds sing, their songs echo over the moors. Brown ponies, untouched by the hand of man, run wild, through sheep that graze on sweet heather, foxes live on land where their fathers ran, peregrines swoop, swift of sight and feather. Fragrant yellow flowers blossom on gorse, while a thin frost sweeps across the hard ground, where a new foal lies by a tired out horse, life lives no matter what fortunes are found. Generations of animals pass by, but this is how the land will always lie.

The thin red rim of light surrounds the tips of dark mountains. A line of awe stood tall, That encompasses land from flats to dips, dominates the sky peering down on all. Sunrise over a towering wood, it's like the edge of the world becomes aflame. Silence echoes so quiet no word fits, darkness sweeps the ground wild and free but tame. A lake reflects the vermilion sky. Its clear still waters a smooth sheet of glass, showing the surroundings as they go by, revealing the events that come to pass. Creation's majesty, who's seen it all? In comparison, man does seem so small.

Do not write about nature for its beauty cannot be captured by the pen, mere words justify it not, for how can black and white lines on a page fully show : The tremulous stones tumbling down a bank, a timorous deer making its way into a wooded clearing. Can they recreate the sound of an ocean reaching its crescendo and a chorus of birds singing their dawn praises ? They cannot even begin to suggest the scent of bluebells, or the first rays of sun at dawn or dusk's last light. No, only experience can show you natures beauty, do not attempt to write about it, or read and think you know. Go out, explore, look, do.