I see the glory of the land.
It stretches like shaven fields,
Dotted with bales of straw,
Green meadows with quiet sheep,
Bare trees, like black lace
against cloudless blue skies.
Short days, low sun, golden light,
Long shadows, pale sea – silver blue,
Spreads like a sheet of silk,
Lying motionless on the sand,
Polished, unblemished, still.
Brazen gold leaves stay
On bare branches, clinging for life.
Berries, orange-red, thick,
Cling to hawthorn trees,
Pale moss, sun dappling the ground.
A misty haze in the valley,
The light dips and the sunset,
Wide, spreads, bathed in a glow.
Arches of the causeway melt
Without line into the rippleless sea.
Light stretches from horizon to
Mirrors back, exquisite, eerie,
Luminous, burning with light,
Filling the dusk with color,
Touching the glowing stubble.
Lamps from the village and sea walls,
Silhouette the blackened headland,
The air, clear, branches needle-sharp,
Each pebble on the beach seen.
The wind carries their reflections away.
The fire of sunset spills carmine,
Indian red, flamingo pink,
Fades slowly, as if reluctant to go,
An evening when anything could happen,
Reality melts away, infinite possibilities.
The width of the evening sky
The smell of the salty sea air,
The sounds of deafening silence,
Are too big to be caught with words.
Scotland calls to me….