Small Stone Day 23

The clouds are not white,
but a seamless grey blanket.
The black-faced sheep
are not white. They are cream.
The tall windmills turning
against the grey sky
are not white, just a
lighter shade of grey.
But the snow on the
fields and fells,
rooves and verges,
that is white.

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About Carol Ross

Interested in therapeutic writing.
This entry was posted in Mindful Writing, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Small Stone Day 23

  1. raphaelcha says:

    That must be a beautiful place

    • Carol Ross says:

      I live in Cumbria. I’m not sure where you are so I’ll add that Cumbria is in England near the Scottish border. I’ve lived here longer than I’ve lived anywhere else in my life, and it’s a lovely quiet rural county – lots of lakes, green hills and sheep. It is very beautiful. Thanks for dropping by and leaving a comment, Carol.

  2. Yes, I love the colours, especially the subtle atmospheric colours of winter

    • Carol Ross says:

      I feel the same Valerie. And in winter colours seem to change so much more with the weather than in summer. Thanks for your comment, Carol.

  3. Christine says:

    Love this, Carol!

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