This tree was near a shed with a collapsed, mossy roof at 4-mile, along the road to town.
[daily log: walking, 5km; retailing, 3hr]
Day: January 5, 2024
Caveat: from the bones of the mountain
January, 5 Off Lindisfarne the waves shiver like monks at their ablutions. Under high horizontals of ice-cloud, the sky scrubbed clean as a dairy. The train darts north, hungry as a tongue. Only the exile longs for the words to name a country: either live it or learn, at a bare table, ancestral silence, like a rumble deep in the loch’s throat, the forgotten song of the curling-stone, the snow slipping like white meat from the bones of the mountain. - Alison Fell (Scottish poet, b. 1944)
Caveat: Poem #2711 “This winter”
ㅁ The snow continued failing to appear instead the rain persisted with its task. The trees received more water than they'd like, the sea was washed but surged, indifferent.
– a quatrain in blank verse (iambic pentameter).