A trickle carves the stone with grace,
Soft hands that shape a silent place.
No need for thunder, rage, or roar —
The stillest streams can wear the shore.

Now then, sit thissen, tek a breather,
Tha’s climbed enough to sweat through t’ether.
Cast tha’ peepers ‘cross yon land,
Where bog an’ breeze go hand in hand.

Tha’ clouds drift soft, like cloots o’ cream,
While moorland hums a golden dream.
Water’s still as Sunday prayer,
Holdin’ shadows like it cares.

I am the bones of shelter past,
Stone-stacked and weathered, built to last.
My frameless window, once a watchful eye,
Now frames the hills where echoes lie.

I stood where silence wears a crown, where ghosted hills in velvet drown, and in the hush of rain’s retreat, the world bent shining at my feet.

A wound of colour split the skies — a living fire before my eyes. A bow of flame, a whispered spell, that only fleeting hearts could tell.

Over the past three years, I’ve returned time and again to Scout Moor High Level Reservoir, drawn by its quiet presence and ever-changing face. Through shifting light, seasonal transformations, and countless solitary walks, I’ve come to know this place in a way that only time allows. This collection of images is more than a visual record — it’s a conversation with the landscape, a study in patience, and a personal reflection on the beauty found in stillness and repetition. Three Years’ Whispers is my tribute to the subtle magic of place, light, and time.

A simple journey culminating in a moment of peaceful contemplation in nature. An evocative descriptive poem.

A winters dream. A poem focused on capturing a specific moment and the feelings associated with it, escribing the stillness and beauty of a winter morning.

a poem that captures beauty and melancholy of historical landscape. Imagery rhythm and contemplative tone creates a powerful emotional experience for the reader

Perfectly Imperfect. This poem is a compelling and evocative piece of writing that beautifully celebrates the beauty and value of imperfection.

Perched on the edge of Cragg Quarry, I found myself immersed in a world transformed by snow and silence. In that fleeting stillness, where light danced and time seemed to pause, I felt the quiet power of nature's beauty—both fierce and gentle—etching itself into memory with a single whispered word: wow.