Bradgate Park

The darkened hues of autumn
Began to roll over the horizon,
Like the hair of a girl with auburn locks.
Gently swaying in the breeze like a belly dancer
With each ripple ascending after the other.

The hill stood proud and undisturbed,
And Old John silhouetted in front of the golden glare
Of the sun, looked half tilted like a leaning tower
As the contours of the hills energised its flow.

A sandy path meanderes like a dry bed stream
Up from my feet to the pinnacle
like a snake between the ferns and long grass
Hugging it's shoulders.

The moonlight will appear soon to re-arrange the scene
Summoning the ghost of Lady Jane amongst
The derelict architecture of the old house
Where at twilight she roams the hillsides,
Here spirit set free to dance on the shards of beams
And moon glazed landscape.

The sun begins to dip its finger into the burnt horizon
To suggest another life. As Michael Angelo starts to paint
The sky in vivid vibrant colours of orange purple and magenta.
Water colours in the glowing light.

The hill now animated, awaits the master to transform
Its form from a fluttering butterfly into a stony cocoon
To sleep nocturnal during the midnight luminosity.

The only evidence of the wind,
A gull gliding upon its thermals
As if being lured into the arch of Old John
By a spell. Arching, drifting like a glider
Unsure of its decent or path.
Screeching in terror awaiting Lady Jane’s
Midnight glance.

I believe this place to be enchanted late at night
And I am transfigured into a trance.
Where only the sounds give reference
To the wide expanse and the hidden tale
Of Old John and his lover dancing to oblivion
On the shards of moonlight luminosity