Distant Hills
Posted: Mon Apr 11, 2022 1:29 pm
There is enchantment in distant hills -
you wonder could you walk directly to them,
crossing sheep meadows, skirting yellow fields,
over gates, always keeping off the road.
Or would you lose your aim in hidden troughs,
waylaid by riverbeds along the route?
Would you recognise the hill when closer -
perhaps it wouldn’t be a hill at all?
That crown of beech on the horizon’s crest;
that oak espaliered against the sky.
Landmarks up close are seldom what you think:
the hill - a hillock, the high wood - a copse.
I recall a boyhood pilgrimage of sorts:
my father ill, I set myself the task
of walking to a spired church below
a Wealden hill to barter for his life.
It was as far as a boy could explore
on a June day and still be home for tea.
My dad survived then, though he’s long gone now
as I sit here on this April morning
looking at a hill in sunlight to see
the distance closing of its own accord.
you wonder could you walk directly to them,
crossing sheep meadows, skirting yellow fields,
over gates, always keeping off the road.
Or would you lose your aim in hidden troughs,
waylaid by riverbeds along the route?
Would you recognise the hill when closer -
perhaps it wouldn’t be a hill at all?
That crown of beech on the horizon’s crest;
that oak espaliered against the sky.
Landmarks up close are seldom what you think:
the hill - a hillock, the high wood - a copse.
I recall a boyhood pilgrimage of sorts:
my father ill, I set myself the task
of walking to a spired church below
a Wealden hill to barter for his life.
It was as far as a boy could explore
on a June day and still be home for tea.
My dad survived then, though he’s long gone now
as I sit here on this April morning
looking at a hill in sunlight to see
the distance closing of its own accord.