howling for precipices

It’s poetry Tuesday, everybody, and I’m writing about glowering steepness. Still grateful for that sunny, wild October day in 2016 when I scrambled along the spine of Dundonnell’s jewel and one of Britain’s finest ridges: An Teallach.

Here’s the complete poem.

for the mountains

I am made for the cold—

the wind howls, my heart soars,

I look across the frightening loneliness

of the winter bleak, the clouds, the failing light—

my heart shakes the way a dog shakes off a fly,

my spirit howls for the faraway places,

for the precipices, for glowering steepness

that shakes awe into my bones

and pulls me, gasping, to my feet


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