My Mountain

We're newcomers in our village here in Wales but it's surprising how soon one takes ownership of a new location. After only a few months I'm beginning to feel at home and to be proud of this tiny community, its glorious scenery, welcoming heart and sturdy, cheerful resilience in the face of adverse weather and economic conditions. The village has quickly become 'my village' and the mountain outside my back window 'my mountain'. It also reminds me of another small 'mountain' which formed an important part of my childhood holidays in Somerset. Apologies to the many longstanding residents who have far greater ownership rights - my presumption is merely a sign of my growing affection for this corner of the British Isles.

 

My mountain is round and green.

The sunlight hovers over it,

Trimming the edges with yellow,

Casting shadows on the green hollows

Where bushes huddle together

And the sheep take shelter.

 

My mountain is hummocky,

Uneven, ridged and knobbly.

I am learning every twist and turn

Of its comforting presence:

Irregular fields at its base,

Enclosed by low green hedges,

And the craggy outline

Of its upper reaches.

 

Once I knew another mountain,

In my childhood long ago,

Rolling down its grassy slopes,

My father looking on, watchful,

Of my progress downwards,

Another comforting presence.

 

“Tomorrow we will climb the Mount” –

A treat for childish holidays –

“Explore its hawthorn bushes,

Berries, wild flowers and secret pathways”.

I stumble falteringly to the top

To tumble down again, laughing,

Never knowing how the memories

Would last us down the years.

 

My mountain is round and green.

It is ever changing as I sit at my window,

Watching for spring to turn to summer,

The autumn colours to tinge the leaves,

The snow to gather along the hedgerows

And the new lambs to be re-born.

 

My mountain is watching over me,

Offers grazing for the livestock,

Shelter from the fierce winds

That howl around our village,

Its yellow gorse brings brightness

On cold, clear days in spring.

My mountain is mine forever,

Living out my time beneath its gaze.