I stand upon this mound,
looking onto the plains below,
I climbed up this mount,
with the symbolic name Circeo,
below me the old Pontine marshes,
dried out, built on, now Sabaudia,
in the distance lightning flashes,
as an autumn storm grows nearer,

view from Circeo looking towards Terracina.

the wind picks up and caresses my hair,
a mass of red whips my face,
darkness threatens on the horizon,
the storm is gathering pace,
in this lair of cyclops,
I stop to think and digest,
the cross my enemy and my companion,
cemented here on this mound,
although no friend of mine,
I will do you no harm,
not like the previous visitors here,
carving their names into your soul,
looking on down from my dangerous perch,
I try to fathom things out,
interrupted by shards of light,
and the roar of a thunderous shout,
as the air grows humid and close,
I stand my ground on this outcrop,
with all of mother nature surrounding me,
daring me to remain,
the ferns and the trees wave to me,
and the thorny bushes warn me,
that what I am doing is unnatural,
in the distance lightning strikes,
and someones lights are knocked out,
I hope it was not fatal,
below me I see the sea,
whipped up like some desert in the making,
salt water pushed over and into the lake,
mother nature is a devil when it comes to baking,

the sea whipping the feet of mount circeo

and the wind seems to have no direction,
like when I am whisking it is bashing all around,
the roar gets louder like an aeroplane,
and starts to whip debris from off the ground,
it could be a tornado, nothing more,
dangerously standing my ground,
my thoughts and ideas forgotten some more,
with all this devastation all around,
and the whirls and the whispers of her,
whirl around these ancient walls,
like ghosts and phantoms of a forgotten war,
sirens singing and sailors catcalls,
an ancient power stronger than man,
was pounding on my door of reason,
time then to drop my stance, I ran,
unpredictable weather in this silly season,
fleeing down the dirt track,
trying not to slip on jagged rocks,
jutting out of every tree root,
a thousand years of history entwined,
as the howling roars louder,
my get away path grows clearer,
free from the leaves and ferns and traps,
I nearly shit myself at the now huge thunder claps,
all alone on mount Circeo,
once standing under darkened skies,
now above it is total fucking darkness,
and the rain it starts to pierce my eyes,
one hundred metres, not much more,
my haven, my car, my shelter,
I need to get out of natures war,
finally inside, wet to the bones,
cold and fragile, heart beating fast,
dog wet and cat licked,
adrenalin pumping in my veins what a blast,
I forgot what I came here for!
not that it matters now,
as lightning flickers near and above,
rejuvenated to fight on some more,
as the rain lashes down and blinding my view,
darkness surrounds my man-made refuge,
one thing I do remember is I love you!
my constant thought the muse from Calabria.

©Darren Hobson November 2014