Spring in Edale: A Poem

Spring

In Edale’s lap, where moorland meets the sky,

Spring awakens, a raw pulse of life

Through heather and gorse, the valley’s sigh

Shivers with birth, the ground rife

With crocus flames and daffodil bursts,

Nature’s raw hymns in the dawn’s chill breath.

Curlews carve air, their songs unschooled, unrehearsed,

Echoing the ancient chants of death and rebirth.

Kinder Scout, a brooding beast, yawns wide,

Its peat-black flanks shedding winter’s frost.

Streams gush down, silver veins untied,

Rushing, roaring, reclaiming what was lost.

Lambs, spry and trembling, paint the fields,

Their bleats like fluted notes, pure and wild,

Against the fierce green that the land yields,

Each blade a new soldier, fierce and riled.

Hawthorn, shy, yet burgeoning white,

Against the storm-clouds’ charcoal smear,

The sky a battlefield of dark and light,

Spring’s bloodied wounds and fierce cheer.

Down in the booths, life hums low,

Farmers, stoic, toil with the soil’s secret codes,

Their hands hard as granite, faces aglow,

In the earth’s warm grip, their burdens and odes.

Edale’s heart beats in each boulder and brook,

In every wind's whisper and skylark’s ascent,

A savage grace, a natural book,

Written in wild joy and raw lament.

So spring in Edale, fierce and tender,

A season of claw and kiss,

Where life and death blend, blur, surrender,

In the valley’s rough-hewn bliss.