Out Amongst It, Cup-Handed

Drinking fresh water, cup-handed,
from a mountain spring…
as the storm clouds
rumble and battle
for prominent position above you.
A heartbeat away
from pelting raindrops groundwards,
with a sincerity
quite foreign to the
‘Always In Reach Of Rooftops’
You un-arch your back,
and instinctively tilt your squinting face
up towards the splattering, battering onslaught,
descending with an almost
precisioned purpose.
Scowl with a smile,
and sideways-slide a walk
over to the nearest congregation of trees,
whom have now changed
hue, depth of character, and meaning.
This is ‘Timelessness’
apart from your clothes,
and that loose domino of pylons
‘Sore-Thumbing’ it
off in the …………………… distance.
You can taste, and feel,
both the Air and Land,
in each soul-awakening breath.
As the Old Gods
start to cackle with thunder above you.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.