Emotional Mountains
I’m not one of those folk who ascribe motives or emotions to mountains. A mountain, whether Kinder or K2, is just a lump of rock, maybe covered with slippery and/or squelchy bits. Any treachery, cruelty, intimidation, or indeed welcoming friendliness,…
Winter’s Calling
Late November, the dark peak. Winter is home again on these high moors, mewling in with chill-lash days of sleet and gale. With fellhard testing days of hail obscured horizons and roaring, bed broaching brooks.
Petrichor
Petrichor; derived from Greek petra, “stone” & īchōr, “divine fluid”: that uniquely fresh, rich aroma of rain falling upon parched earth after days then weeks of hot dry weather. Early summer, the driest on our modern record. The birchwood copse,…
To a possible reader…
just a spacer A note to a possible reader. On prose, specifically mine, often the purple variety. I make no apology, for none is needed. I love words. I cherish them. I love their variety. I love that old words…
The blog and sales portal of an artist who runs and climbs a bit