The Cathedral of the Moors

This idea came to me when I connected yesterday's walk to the Lady Chapel along the cross-wise path and today's walk across the Moor to Kildale and a fragment of a remembered poem by R S Thomas. At the beginning of today's walk it was raining and the low clouds roofed the moorland scenery for the first four miles or so. Along the path stood old battered square stone pillars at reasonably frequent intervals which reminded me of the crosses I saw yesterday.

It is said that there are many remnants of old standing crosses on the North York Moors but today it is often hard to tell which could have been crosses. Yet they are route markers and as such they tell a story of the Cathedral of the Moors.

Story in stone

Stone pillars to hold up the sky 

As it comes bearing down filled with grey rain.

Stone pillars marking out the way
As it goes snaking over the hills purple with heather.

Stone pillars telling a story of travelling
As we go, each at our own pace, onward today.

The hand stone

Just when you wonder if this is the way
Up pops a hand stone,
Palm open, welcoming,indicating,
Its this way, you are not lost.

The face stone

When we stumble or fall
A human face makes all the difference.
Yesterday, Veronica noticed, and held out kindness.
Today the face on the stone looks just like the one
On shroud or veil.
I trace the features with my finger
And wonder at how similar we look.

Madonna and child

Two stones side by side;
One tall, one small,
Perhaps broken.
These are my Madonna and child:
Moor sentinels,
Signalling that young and old
Travel together
With the quick and the halt,
Over the rough and the smooth.

Still pools

From time to time a worn rock
Becomes a basin,
Collecting minuscule molecules,
Holding vital resources,
Offering a generous blessing,
Helping us all to live wet.

You prepare a table

The essential rock
That underlies everything.
The ageless rock
Worn and lichened
The crumbling rock
Becoming dust again.
This rock, this table:
I break the bread
And feast here.