Mourning

Beloved Gaistal Valley, a fine dawn, low lingering mist;

distant jangle of cow bells, before the dense pine forest.

Along the stony path, across springy meadow, an hour

by meandering stream, oh, the wonderful Alpine flowers!

Then a steeper climb, up through the wooded way,

anticipating the first Alm, first viertel of Spätlese.

These were days as fine as I would know.

On the way, an distinguished man in Bavarian green

drew alongside; an affable companion, Anglophile it seemed.

Beneath the urbanity……something, waggish, wry,

the mannered politeness veiled an impish eye.

A carefree, antic bow, a resounding “Grüss Gott”,

with swish and swank, he struck out for mountain top.

This an impression as firm as I would know.

Evening Gemüse Platter, with spirit enriched,

up winding slope, flanked by trees and ditch.

Up and around, a full moon wandern

(morning revealed it’d been the toboggan run).

Minus 15, low bright stars, the unknown to left and right.

A little dizzy from the clean sharp air, sometimes slipping on the ice.

This a night as black as I would know,

Stars as bright as I would see.

Stars as bright as I would ever see.

Peter Jennings

East Sussex

January 2025