Peak

Savage and sensual,

the tumult of this circling wind

high on the Col

howling like an Apache,

trying to scalp my hair

with clawing rough-raw gusts.

It doesn’t want me here

to share the panoramic view

it thinks it owns,

jealously tugging and ripping

setting my head aflame.

I scrimmage intensely

against such dynamic power

a comedic leaning gait

doggedly not giving ground.

I have earned this right

to bathe in the sculpted beauty

of these velvet magenta curves

and higher still

the eroded craggy fanged Dentelles

with scruffy cack-bedraggled sheep

swept like leaves

against the dry-stones.

*

© Graham Sherwood 12/2019