The Mountain 

The mountain braces the horizon with a stoic impression that stirs my imagination and senses. How could I be so far away yet have such a felt sense of presence and belonging?  The undulation of its form has been a constant due north of my internal compass, firmly imprinted on my mind and the bedrock of many stories that moulded my paternal lineage.

Its craggy terrains and sweeping valleys play host to formidable sheep confronting my presence should I interrupt their ramblings.  Golden amber hues married with bursts of vibrant heather brace the cold ground whilst streams of mountain water forge their impression on the course landscape a bold yet subtle nod to life.

An isolated farm stimulating the query of man’s ability to live in a seemingly harsh environment, and how many ancestors had walked this stoney ground before? My quiet contemplation is enveloped with bellowing mountain air sweeping and coursing my body and mind, taking with it the need for thought.  Looking out over Mushera’s vast expanse I listen for the sounds of my people and their distant musings, when a quiet voice stirs inside me and whispers, ‘I am home’.