the moor sleeps.
bogweed and heather topped.
mist rolls over her like cream floating on coffee.
on marshmallow sponge.
the turf drinks deeply when it rains.
a chink of sun
flutters amongst the bilberries,
as pickers, fingers blue with juice, warm up.
my pail is full.
overflowing with super berries, jewelled with dew.
my tummy is plump. i’ve eaten as many as i’ve picked for you.
my steps are heavy.
the sucking peat bites. i hike back to car and home.
leaving the moor to forget me and sleep fitfully alone.