Ancient Rock Thrown Together In Darkness

In the beginning was the yawning void.
Then came the White Ruhk.
Followed by the rains.
This ancient rock was thrown together in darkness.
Haphazardly; by Godly hands
knotted by carbunkles
and blisters
and hang nails.
It happened this way.
Witness the breaks in the high clouds
approaching from miles distant
rumbling methodically across the Kingdom of Mercia.
The purple heather giving the land
a bruised and mottled appearance.
Like a port wine birthmark,
or a corpse left long enough
for the blood to settle at the lowest points.
Gritstone edges pulsating with life.
Craggy overhangs potent with medicine.
Father Sun. Sister moon. Brother Psilocybin.
The wind in the hair.
The peet beneath the feet.
They say there are wallabies to be found
in this designated area of Natural Beauty.
They say that mermaids lay in wait
beneath its pools of dark bottomless water.
Soon will come the Ragnarok.
Surely soon will come the Fourth World.
The Sixth Age. And the Long Long Winter.
But until such time, I intend to enjoy the view.