Packhorse Bridge, Three Shires Head (Poetry)

A distant sun’s diluted light,
exercising liquid art,
seeps, to warm the sky’s cold plain
with subtle wash, its yellow stain
softening the hills — transfused
to plum-soft shadows, gently bruised
to counterpoint gradated pink,
as branches drawn with wine-dark ink
in contrast to the highlights caught
in lower limbs, bear colour wrought
by alchemy of light and snow
spread randomly — a borrowed glow.

The bridge stands mellowed — copper tones
enhance its dull, rough-weathered stones,
and slabs, cut square, beside the stream,
exude a muted, ochre gleam —
earth-browns — a pastel land reveals
dark gems that string the edge of fields
where sheep stand watching, poker-faced,
their frozen fleeces silver-chased —
they keep one patient, wary eye
on bent-backed hiker trudging by,
old track obscured, but instinct-led
to packhorse bridge at Three Shires Head.