It’s here where we stop for a moment
half way up, where the path opens up,
where there’s just sky in front,
and below, the patchwork of the plain.
Hands on our hips we stop and stand
-Foggy air, definitely-.
Down below in the distance
a few belfries and roofs lie,
in a luminous veil of haze;
before them the sunlit bronze
of the autumnal leaves
quivers in curls.
We gaze, assessing the weather and the day.
Our breath, our simple presence.
The slight shiver of our passing and standing
over the vastness of the land that stands.
Before resuming our walk
we sight two buzzards
flying in circles, just above.
The sky knows how to nod.