From here, sheep are white dots. The bracing air
is damp with mountain mist (or Dragon's breath)
and the distant closes in.
A crow caws from it's lofty perch
in a nearby buck thorn, and others respond.
Then the flock of huge blue/black birds take off
to collectively descend on something dead.
Gorse and owl-hollowed oaks slant over
the remains of Vortigern's Tower, that dominates the summit;
while the silver river below snakes gracefully
into the lake, slightly distorting it's upside-down world.
Can you see the eyes of Emrys in the water?
For it's here His vocation in boyhood began
with revelations of warring Dragons within this sacred hill.
This place is reminiscent of the best of Constable.
Snakes and lizards rustle through lush green ferns,
feasting on unsuspecting insects;
while thistles and briers claw through my sleeve,
drawing blood; and a grey squirrel
darts across the path ahead, startling me.
And here is the legendary Hawthorne.
It is said, that if you sit and watch patiently at dusk,
you'll be rewarded with the spectacle
of Emrys emerging from His tree.
So I sit quietly in Druidic robe, carved staff in hand...
and wait...and watch...and wait...
Listen - there is a rustling! My heart begins pounding.
Then an owl swoops down...and I hear a dormouse scream.