Upon a Sheltered Hillside
There is a stillness in this frigid night, too fragile to bear the weight of words. Silence melds with flittered memories that linger, then…
There is a stillness in this frigid night,
too fragile to bear the weight of words.
Silence melds with flittered memories
that linger, then fade like crisp Autumn mists
in the glancing rays of early dawn.
Snapshots of earlier times, the laughter of children,
summer sun on bare arms, a mother’s tenderness.
All of these, and more, are now driftwood crystals
that glister in the closing light.
Satin smoothness welcomes the weary traveler
The journey is ended, the story has finished
Rest is the final reward.
I am always inspired to write after a walk in the Scottish hills, in the gloaming, just before dark.
Hillwalking, especially late evening with darkness falling for me, has always been more than just a physical activity; it’s a profound journey into the depths of both nature and the soul. As I traverse the hillside in winter, I find solace in the stillness of the frigid night, and I’m reminded of the profound silence that often surrounds life’s most significant moments.
The memories that flit through my mind like autumn mists serve as a testament to the impermanence of all things. Through the snapshots of laughter, warmth, and tenderness, I glimpse the fleeting beauty of existence. These moments, like driftwood crystals, glimmer in the closing light, offering a glimpse into the essence of life’s transient nature.
The smoothness of the satin underfoot welcomes weary travelers, signifying that every journey, no matter how challenging, ultimately leads to rest. Hillwalking is not just a physical pursuit; it’s a spiritual odyssey, a contemplative space where one can reflect on life’s deeper meanings and find peace in the journey’s end.