Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long.

Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long
And felt the sun caress my shoulders with its heated blanket.
I watched the white butterflies dancing, and heard the lazy
Buzzing of the bees; I felt the velvet coolness of a gentle
Breeze, as it whispered its encouragement into my ears.
Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long.
In the distance I watched the strung out jewels of the cars
And coaches that travelled from Arrochar to Ardgarten,
And from thence up the long slow climb to
Rest-and-be-thankful. They glowed in reds, golds,
Greens and blues in the clear sun-washed air.
Their engines were the bagpipe drones to the high
And insistent call of the soaring buzzards.
Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long.
I trod with care over the rocks and boulders that
Winter water had tumbled and tossed on the track,
And dodged and jumped the puddles and streams
That still remained on this spring-soon-summer day.
Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long.
I saw the reflected peaks on the still waters of the
Patient loch, rippled only now and then by the memory
Of the winds that only weeks ago carried rain, snow and
Ice across the surface; I saw the loch, deep, mysterious
And blue with the light of cloud-studded sky.
Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long.
As I walked I saw all round me the intrusion of man
On nature, and all around me were the bandages of
Healing that nature in her turn provided, the water, rock
And stone, the heather and the grass, the mossy cushions
That cover and repair the damage done by heedless man.
Today I walked along the hillside above Loch Long, and
As I looked south to the sea I realised that there is still
A slender brightly shining thread of hope in this bleak
And terrifying tapestry that we call life.

(c)2ndwitch, 17/05/2018

The Woods by Loch Lomond

I walked in the woods, watching the light
Play on the bare twigs of winter,
Spotlighting the long and wizened fingers
Of some many old crones, wise women,
Who dwell now in the woods above

Loch Lomond.
As I walk I remember the days of youth

When acorns were treasure, and the
Spinning jennies spun there web of dreams
Until they landed, faerie soft, on the moulded
Ground, and rested there, still and quiet.
I remember the voices of the child who cried
And sang in the shadow of the leaves
And who is now the crone in the tree.
I think of Hallaig, and all who lived there,
But are now gone, and of the loves who
Live on in the woods of Hallaig.
I think of the hunters who marched out

In pursuance of the noble stag, and of the
Ravens that croaked there return; and I know,
I know, that spirits who dwell still in Hallaig
Are much the same as those who dwell
Now in the woods that I walk through.
And I am glad to hear their age-wisdom

Voices on the breeze, and in the river-chatter.

(c) 2ndwitch, 09/12/16