Leaving the snow-dusted valley behind, I begin to climb.
Mutli-coloured rocks protrude through a frosty coating;
their staccatoed presence offering steps for weary feet.
Fern corpses, reddening the banks of the path;
bowing down, as sorrowful as the combed hair of a bolding man.
Gushing foams of crashing water to the right;
thundering in to clear pools, creating chaos and delight.
Wolf-like sheep stare as I clamber to the top;
their black beady eyes bore through and beyond me.
The Tarn sumit offering a tranquil place to rest.
Sitting on a rock beside the frozen lake the chill of it all;
creeping within me twisting my heart like the 'Mirror of Reason'
All becomes ugly, distorted and misery sets in.
The waters wash over me as I sink beneath their icy waves;
Lost to the tantalising Tarn and my terrible thoughts.
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