Frost on the paths through Bruntsfield, onto the Links and past the Plague Pits (which hold the secret seeds of future poems as well as long dead bodies). I walk through into the Meadows, the shimmering whisper of unseen birds above my head, though all I see are two jackdaws, their black glinting in the low sun. The same sun throws the trees into sharp relief, the upper branches red and glowing.
Later the Royal Mile, where a young woman twirls batons of fire while her companion drums, the primitive beat moving tourist feet along the slippery pavements. A detour down a side street to see the setting sun before diving inside to the poetry reading.
crescent moon hangs
above the reddened crags -
Faded for Weekend Wordsmith
I also have a haiku up on Winter Haiku, you can read it here.
Don't forget my Book Giveaway, you can enter it here.
I love Walking for inspiration, find out more here.