Shropshire’s rolling hills

envelope our route,

overlooking the path like

a roughly shaken blanket,

the billowing domes squatting

gently astride its valleys,

this morning the sun rose

secretively behind the Ragleth

and feigned to hide for a time

throwing a rich orange smudge 

across the skyline before coyly

showing its pale face,

we walked up to see the wild ponies

on the Carding Mill path, a jigsaw 

of ice, mud and stones,

walkers scrambling like multi-coloured 

beetles across the stream to

avoid parts of the frozen path,

the ponies, some pregnant, stood

impassively curious, if a tad stern,

as if we had no right to intrude

upon their Sunday morning,

but it was the treacherous footing

that curtailed our stroll

and the lure of hot chocolate

from the busy cafe

 

© Graham R Sherwood 1/25