Ullswater Poem by Mark Murphy

It is not with any apology we walk
the silt and pebble of this shoreline –
through time and space we ache

to crack the spell our other selves
have made. Although we are not new
there is reason enough to misbehave.

Because there is no other place
where branch and twig mend
and past and present interlace

we spend the day tranquil as rain
not yet fallen. This is the first leaf
of the season, the first primrose

of spring, the first kiss to take
form – whispered in the morning
with delicate breath. See.

There is no one else here besides us.
We make the lake our own –
the whole thing is possible. At once

the cirrus sky asserts its living
breath and we breathe certain
in the knowledge of our simple

passing; Gowbarrow behind,
Birk Fell before, and the journey
to and from only just begun.