Stonymollan road

The long stone path, climbing slowly through
Bracken and heather, girt with popping broom,
Turns gently to left and right, always climbing,
Embraced by benevolent trees that filter the
Late summer, or is it early autumn, sun.

The dappled shade leopards the grassy bank
And plays an ephemeral game of hide and seek
On my hands and arms as I write.
The burn, down-flowing, provides the counterpoint, in treble
To the percussive broom, and the bass of distant cars.

Today is just one day, taken out of time, and held
Tight in my empty hands, it escapes my grasping fingers
And dances its onward way, cloud-dotted and pale blue.
Never, no never, again, will I see that bee
Visit the open gloves left by a passing fox.

Never, no never, again will that exact blue bottle
Buzz and bumble on the browning bracken.
But, for ever and ever again, this one
Encapsulated moment will live
In my mind's eye, preserved, a sun-washed memory.

© 05/09/15