Winter-bleared, the mountains
become wraiths, severe trees soften
into shadows of themselves,
the waters ripple under fog.
In cryptic hollows, chapels
hibernate - odour of summer
ash and dankness; wax grotesque
in mounds; the vigilance of saints.
Primitive carillons tumble
earthward from thin scarves of cloud,
oracles re-echo them from catacombs;
gods cast their spells on caves
and travellers and beasts;
the rope bridge creaks,
the river purls...
The shepherd youth still roams this vale,
ubiquitous as autumn mist;
the myth of truth, the truth of myth
have made it his.
Note: The Vale of Tempe, in the vicinity of Mount Olympus, is associated with Apollo, who, according to tradition, transplanted his sacred laurel tree from Tempe to Delphi, and later returned to Tempe to do penance as a shepherd after slaying the Python, the ancient serpent of Parnassos.
Tempe in the Rain
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103041401064
Свидетельство о публикации №103041401064
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