Whispers of Naden Valley

In Naden Valley, silence weaves,
Through folded hills and russet leaves;
With each breath of air, is a prayer set free,
That drifts across the moor to me.

The Naden Higher Reservoir lies still,
Its mirrored calm beneath the hill,
Where clouds dissolve, and colours rest,
On the water’s cool, untroubled chest.

A hush of wings, a curlew’s cry,
Threads soft through folds of fading sky,
And peat-sweet scents in twilight roam,
As if the land were breathing home.

The wind moves slowly through amber ferns.
It hums of time and all it turns;
Of fleeting gold, of life unspun,
Of light that leaves yet loves the sun.

Beneath the bridge, reflections blend,
Where water knows neither start nor end.
It carries stillness, soft and deep,
Where ancient stones remember sleep.

Whispers of Naden Valley, stay.
Let this peace not be swept away;
Let autumn’s voice in silence call,
And wrap the valley in gentle thrall.

The scent of moss, the coolness of rain,
The murmured moor, a low refrain —
They weave a hymn the dusk repeats,
Through shadowed pools and folded peat.

Here, time forgets its steady climb,
The valley breathes slow, outside of time;
And in that breath, both wild and true,
The heart grows still — as valleys do.

Now twilight glows where day has gone,
And faint stars wake as dusk moves on;
The water sighs — a whispered tone,
Of peace that hums in undertone.

And as the dark and calm unspool,
The moor reflects the evening’s rule —
The sky, the earth, the dreams that tally,
In Whispers of Naden Valley.