The unblinking eye

The unblinking eye
its colour
reflected
from above

Fringed with
the brown and yellow
of winter
the grey of rock

Rippled by
the uncaring wind
blowing from
far away

Unmoving
the heathery knolls
and distant valley
surrounds it

They were
my country
that winter long ago
the lochans of the moor

Memories

The winds sighs in the needled boughs
The heather bends in the breeze
Yellowed grass of winter
on the dry moorland

The similarity is there
But so is the dissimilarity
No bogs or hags
to trap the unwary

Well paved trails
traverse the moors
the traffic roars
on a distant highway

Out on the moors
wherever they be
my mind wanders free
The freedom of the open sky

A dome of blue
clouds scudding along
the solstice sun
setting in a bed of gold

The unminding traffic
continual in its onward journeys
taking the place of the sea
which has not stopped ever

Not all that were here once
are still around now
their memories remain
in the woods and the moors

Much like in the islands where
they remember those gone on ahead
out at sea or through wizened old age
alive in our memories though

Looking north

Don't think I don't think back
when I was looking out over water
but facing north
rather than south

The long water west
ending below far-off Roineabhal
The townships across the loch
near, but still so far

Walking the roads at dusk
the distant mountains in white
freezing cold air blown in
as lit up from the east

Limpid depthless mirrors
named in a to me yet foreign tongue
scattered amidst countless hillocks
interspersed by peaty streams

At the end of the road
stands a small memorial tower
remembering a struggle for land
which remains unforthcoming

But little stirs amidst the moors
Only remain those that went on ahead
Their final resting place by the sea
which was, or took, their life

Don't think I have forgotten
the lure of those winter moors
under the pale light
of the short solstice day

Pentland Road

A ribbon of black
threads across
the trackless moor
hugging contours

Distant hills
looming either side
blue pieces of glass
reflecting the high sky

Dark blankets roll away
in green, yellow, brown
and black to the horizon
waiting to be cut for fuel

The road forks
where rocky hillocks crop out
angling down along the riverbank
and coming to end at the pierhead

A walk in the moor

Overcast skies threatening rain
The long line of water dully reflects
the little hamlet on the far bank
Vehicles turn the distant corner
out of sight

The paved roadway dips then rises
Passes the gateway to lose its tarmac
The first lake looms up below
Rocks and debris litter the track

Floodwater impedes progress
Where's the road, where is the moor
Spaghnum between the wheelruts
A deep channel fails to drain from the edge

A fleece and some horns, a skull
In front of a second gate, abandon all hope
The rise ahead reveals a lake, another lake, another lake
Where can we pass - it's a narrow causeway

Distant hills reflect in the water
Doom-laden skies glower to the south
Battleship grey is the surface
A final gate, and now find your own way

Watch you step observe the plantlife
Here you can stand, there is a bottomless lake
Shrouded by virulently green watercress
Beware of the peathags, do not be hasty

One wrong move and you may not be found
Until the next spring - or next century
Feel safe on the heather, hug the contourline
Skirt the bulrushes, circle the lochan

The valley opens out, to the left lies the township
The mountains now close, blocking out the light
Guarding the homesteads, three dozen empty
Lining the shores, now home to the deer

The crossroads is reached, the light starts to fade
The fjord looms ahead, leading out to the sea
Complete, soundless silence
But in safety, back on the road