Thoughts . . .

As I walk I wonder if you too can hear the
Echoes between the water that flows down the
Leven and the seas that pound the shore at the
Bay of Skaill; the slow ripple that perhaps was
Once a crashing wave, remembering the individual
Grains of sand that it caressed so many miles
Before, and the shape of the shell that rolled
Beneath its landfall, and now just a lazy
Ripple that sneaks between the banks of dead grass
And under the bare branches of the trees
And shrubs along the riverbank.
So long ago the sailors reached Scapa Flow
And settled in relief at the haven there,
In boats built along the Clyde, or at the
Mouth of the Leven.
Like the waves, and the boats, men
And women too have traveled between
The Leven and Kirkwall, the same cheek that
Felt the soft rain of a cold February beneath
The castle rock has also felt the sandpaper
Wind that crosses the Flow and sculpts
The land that is Orkney.
Connections and echoes, all is simply
Connections and echoes.
And perhaps the ardent Scot who condemns
The English voter has forgotten that
There is nothing more than connections and echoes?

(c) 2ndwitch, 03/01/17