The Paths on Mount Athos.

The wide mountainous forests stretch opaquely
in a dense wilderness of febrile beauty,
undulating and savage, stitching a network
of human habitats along the shadowed canopy.

The land is carefully placed, geographical perfect
for the long term task of learning and prayer.

In the past monks cut paths through fertile thorny bushes
and dense zigzag avenues of trees creating practical arteries.

A mighty number trod along them for centuries
but now Range Rovers and other spluttering transport
rather than feet and sometimes belligerent donkeys
tear up and down rutted dusty roads.

The monster machine of technology and industry
overtook the silence partnership of nature and man.

In that past a monk would have a scythe with him
to repair overgrowing areas of difficult passage
that they would notice as they travelled along their walk.

Any journey could be a time for conversation and prayer,
or maybe internal struggles that would solve themselves
along the way, maybe they walked alone,
but with God and the mountain they were never alone.

Technology moulded in the form of the mobile phone
and the oily combustion engine short circuits all that.

Mystic dialogues are bursts within a banality for speed
in the labyrinth of man’s narrowing panoramic horizon.

lovely drawing.. was half expecting a poem to give with it however must admit.