Hill Walking with Friends in a Fog
A mist envelopes the mountain top
fusing pines in a cold grey fog,
as we stress our lungs and limbs
on rocks and shale and bog.
Our walking poles in rhythmic stride,
bodies moist in layered vest,
we trudge uphill with a stoic will
to a clearing for a rest.
We share our gossip and our thoughts,
our plans and how we feel,
we agree on matters of mutual intent
and swap menus for an evening meal.
Below us, the fading landscape lies
beneath the fringes of a resting cloud,
an opaque scene of greying fields,
our homeland of which we’re proud.
We know these fields in shades of green
and hedgerows of coloured hue,
under blue sky, cotton whites,
and we infuse that vision too.
With a fresh cold haze upon our face,
we march on moss and rush and stream,
quiet time for private thought,
individual within a team.
And as we unlace our walking boots,
embraced the challenge we have dared,
We are content and blessed and feel alive
for friendship we have shared.
Cyril Mc Loughlin
