A special place, awesome hills and shivery streams
That glitter and tumble along the ice age gulley.
She pokes with a stick as the beck hurtles by
Carving ripples that splutter as they race to the brig.
Over the fell and across the carr scurries the brook
Straddling landscape and heritage.
She peers into the liquid crystal ball and green eyes smile
As the rock scrambles in the foam.
Unsteady she balances and reaches within to grasp
The pocket sized stone that twinkles below.
Triumphant she raises the pebble aloft, victory is hers.
She gazes respectfully as the colours squabble for light.
The mining has ceased but the history is not gone,
Maybe not Welsh gold or peak District Blue John
But in her eyes the dream lingers lovingly on.
Clutching the flourspa she holds a rainbow in her hand
Rugged, rough hewn, reflecting this land.
By Linda Prince
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| © Colin Gregory |
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