Today the prompt is to write a descriptive paragraph and then remove words to make it into a poem.
The track was stony, wet, with mud and puddles to negotiate as we walked along it. It did not climb or drop, but kept more or less level, apace with the Lussa running adjacent to its course. It wove in and out of the slender trees, here and there an older specimen stood watch over the peaceful scene. The air was clear, and soft to the touch, if you can so describe air, caressing the person breathing it in. In the distance there was the call of gulls, the sea can never be far away on an island like Mull, and closer to hand the birds darted through the leaves, showing themselves in glimpses to tantalise and perhaps to encourage us to walk on. After we had walked for perhaps 20 minutes or half an hour, the track made one last curve and we could see the cairn. It was roughly built, little more than a pile of stones, with a stone cross held firm at its centre. This, then, was the Pedlar's Pool, and this was the memorial to a man who died because he selflessly helped others.
When I walked away I knew the memory of his sacrifice would never leave me.
The track was stony, wet, with mud and puddles,
It did not climb or drop, but kept apace with the Lussa
running adjacent.
It wove in and out of the slender trees,
and here and there an older specimen stood watch.
The air was clear, soft to the touch, caressing.
In the distance, the call of gulls, the sea never far away,
and closer to hand the birds darted through the leaves,
showing themselves in glimpses to tantalise
and entice us round one last curve.
It was roughly built, the cairn,
little more than a pile of stones,
with a stone cross held firm at its centre,
the memorial to a man who died
because he selflessly helped others.
This, the Pedlar's Pool.
The memory of that place is within me still.
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