bilberry picking

the moor sleeps.
bogweed and heather topped.
mist rolls over her like cream floating on coffee.

footsteps bounce
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.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s