as I slowly stroll up Rhiwbina Hill.
A Sumach Tree possesses leaves poppy-red
and on a Silver Birch a few leaves cling
like a tormented priest struggling with belief.
In the high Welsh field the view is serene,
sparkling transient white covers the green
with the sky a deep Dali blue.
A horse's breath like ectoplasm
vanishes as a fox runs free
and the sun is impossibly bright over the city
down far below like a giant ants nest
but I feel like a god standing up here
on this November morning...fresh and clear.