Let’s move up north

My love, we came here to seduce you,
to loosen the South with a bout
of the wild,
wuthering moor,
unmistakeable light.

But Yorkshire’s not playing,
drowns us in cloud, spews
dew on our shoes.
Cold bites
our heads off;
moor sticks
the knife in, sinks
us in mud, chucks
birds out of heather,
colludes with the weather.
No place like home.

#26Steps I-J  |  Ilkley to Jack Hill, Yorkshire  |  Emily Jeffrey-Barrett