Skylark
Published in
Jan 24, 2022
Wild and windswept wilderness. Bristling in springtime beauty where teenage dreams formed, home-brew drank and first-loves found. Charlotte’s moor on one side, ours on the other. Protective arms embrace the valley below. Once, smoke wretched from the mills, revolutions cathedrals within its belly. Turning stone, lungs, and tiny faces black from the daily toil.
Wind tower blades beat their rhythmic hum. A Lark rises in its staccato flight, a swirl of ducking and darting. Continually singing its warning melody above a swaying tide of heather below. On and on he goes. Higher and higher.
I drift — quietly to the accompanying symphony, composed by nature and man.
An extended Drabble written in 2021.
© 2022 John Rabone
