September thoughts

I am remembering those who have gone on ahead tonight, and Sophia was one of them. My memories start with her little house at Tigharry in North Uist, just off the main road on the West Side of the island. I still remember her broad smile and serene face appearing in the doorway as she welcomed me in, chiding me gently for being early. Endless talk ensued, three nights running, with Torran looking on out of the shadows. For my convenience, Sophia kept an angle-poised lamp on, but otherwise she preferred the dark of the night. I am not the only one to say that my brief encounter with Sophia was nonetheless profound. She quietly slipped away in the night, leaving Torran behind, now nearly two years ago.

Summer memory

The house by the road
stands empty
of you
in the sunset light

The road echoes
to the memory
of your feet and dance
and laughter

The machair sighs
under the winds
of this world
where the sea roils ashore

Your feet still tread
Your happiness lingers
The marram grass rustles
to the tunes you made

She who knows all
is at the Window on the West
for when you return
you'll never be apart again

July remembrance

Far behind now
The memory
of the darkened house
and the starlit sky

The roads are now quiet
the beaches deserted
the machair flowers wave
calling out your name

Enhanced by your memory
your music and spirit
We espy the mermaid
in eternal seas, singing of life

She who knows all
awaits at the Window on the West
as we that are left behind
smile wistfully at your memory

Wishes

You're now far away
under wintering stars
or in the gloaming
of the Hebridean sky

I'm sometimes reminded
of you
of your voice
what you stood for

I knew of your wishes
one was not granted
but your love
was not unspent

Maybe a visit
to old Stornoway,
to old haunts
on antipodean shores

As the daylight
lingers through the night
your memory
lives on in us all

She who knows all,
your faithful companion,
will rejoin you
beyond the Rainbow Bridge

After you finally stride
down the garden path
to collect her
from her forever home

In memory

The curve of the beach
glistens under the full moon
The surf runs up
to the wreath of kelp

Your steps dance along
the dunes' sand
the marram grass bows
in the midnight breeze

The birds' voices
are your voice
the seals' call
is your call

The lighthouses wink
lighting up
the dark springtime
seas

The Window on the West
frames your memory
the world wide web
retains your voice

She who knows all
is safely ensconced
your memory is in her
as it is in us all

Swim strong
mermaid
We'll be here
who have known you

Remembering Sophia

I couldn't see you
Yet you were there
Darkness had fallen
but we needed no light

The late night radio
tinkled out
the closing strains
of Sailing By

I could not see you
But we were close
The wind blew
The rain lashed

Oblivious but
to each other
I would not
could not leave

Knowing that
by leaving,
I'd leave you
for good

I was lost
in the darkness
but your voice
guided me

The Window on the West
I would not see again
neither she
who knows all

I would meet you once more
in the House of Music
once more embracing
almost not letting go

Knowing that
by leaving,
I'd leave you
for good

That night in November
you swam away
she who knows all
knew what she had lost

Looking out each night
waiting for your steps
to come striding
up the path

As one day you will
return to collect your companion
from her new forever home
to cross the Rainbow Bridge

March 2020

The days are lengthening
you would have been delighted
the lambs will soon gambol
round the machairlands

The sun rises early now
caressing the Window on the East
her smile tells me
you are there for us all

The curved beach at Balranald
whispers your name
covers your footsteps
where you left so many

In touch with mother Earth
along the roadside in Horgabost
the barren rock
touched your bare feet

You are still there
where I first met you
at the Window on the West
as the light fades into sunset

You will always be there
in the machairlands of the west
where the grasses talk of your songs
and the flowers long for your return

She who knows all
patiently waits in her new forever home
you'll come to collect her one day
and you'll both go over the Rainbow Bridge.

February 2020 - II

Winter's in its final days
The sun has made its promised return
Headed north
soon past the equator

Daylight now past 6pm
Not long now till the equinox
Snow will come
and more high winds

The grass is brown
rustling horizontal
in the unceasing
gales of the northwest

Hailstones dance
in a fandango with the wind
but crows are nesting
and lambs will soon be here

As the days open out
the machair is empty
the roads derelict
the beaches waveswept

The Window on the West
is framing the setting sun
in a house now empty
of your voice but by memory

She who knows all
is awaiting patiently
in her forever home
for your promised return

February 2020

The wind blows hard
waves thunder ashore
snow patters
wet against the windows

Light is returning
from solstician gloom
but winter fights hard
to retain its icy grasp

The Window on the West
remains empty
She who knows all
patiently waits

The house on the shore
time bends you down
struggling on valiantly
where age ravages

Day drags by day
on the sloped street
where the circle decreases
as it goes round in time

I cannot retrieve
what has long since
been lost
hard though I try

The wind blows hard
the sheets of icy rain
lash the cobbled road
along which I stumble on

January 2020

I was thinking of you today
when I met you, all those years ago
in the sunset
along the lonely road

You took me in
in total trust
and confidence
that I would not betray

We talked
as the sun set
and darkness rose
into the March night

She who knows all
was by your side
only young then
much wiser now

In the wee town
we met again
and for a final time
for music and song

You disappeared
through the thronged door
never for me to see you
again

Your music remains
as does your memory
I know you're there
when times are hard

She who knows all
patiently waits
at the Window on the West
for your eventual return

Sophia 2019

It was your birthday
a month ago
the second one
outwith your life

The first full year
you were no longer there
as your memory
lightens up our days

The Window on the West
is empty now
the roads are quiet
no dancing feet

The machair is lifeless
in austere winter colours
no footsteps
on its bouncy grass

We remember your voice
we remember the joy
with which you met life
and all its challenges

She who knows all
carries your memory
carries your character
and is still waiting

Waiting for the day
when your smile
will come striding
down the path

To collect
your faithful companion
of latter years
to go across the Rainbow Bridge

Eayst

It's about sending the moon to protect and guide a loved one far away. On this night of such a glorious full moon, how could I not share it?

Sophia's words accompanying her recording of the song Eayst (Moon), partly sung in Manx Gaelic.

I keep coming back to it. Because, reading it properly this evening, it haunts me. I'd like to believe that Sophia sends the moon to protect and guide us, far away from her now. The image that goes with her Soundcoud profile shows her in 2013, with a very young Torran on her arm. I know Torran is very lovingly taken care of now, until the time comes that she will be collected by Sophia to cross the Rainbow Bridge. And they'll be reunited, never to be separated again.

Thinking of Sophia

In among the storm that is raging in my life at the moment, I sometimes spend a few minutes listening to recordings of Sophia's voice. The sadness remains, counterbalanced by memories of one of the most remarkable characters I've yet met. I can only just about look at the images of her cat, the faithful companion she left behind. Sophia never had children, a point of regret and pain for her. After she passed 50, cats became her children. I'm told that for months after Sophia died, cats would congregate by her house in Berneray, waiting to be fed. I've written it many times, I'll always think of Sophia in the evening light, opening her door to me with that serene smile, which would slowly fade into the darkness as light faded from the Window on the West. I'm pleased she doesn't appear to have suffered at the end.

December '19

I know you're far away now
smiling among the stars
singing on the waves
dancing on a distant shore

You fell asleep
and drifted off
beyond this life
on the boat home

She who knew all
who had been with you
all those seasons
knew you'd gone forever

At the Window on the West
I stand and gaze at the setting sun
I hear you singing of the moon
and see your serene smile

You'll guide me further on
although we didn't meet again
with others that went on ahead
down this rocky road of life

A year on

A year ago
as that darkening month
wound to a windlashed
close

Friends from all over
headed west over sea,
if the wind did allow,
to remember

In writing, song and poetry
your music, dance and laughter
From the other land by the sea
where you first saw life

We read profound words
in knowing that you live on
not in a physical sense
but in memory

It has been many a year
since we last saw each other
in a crowded bar
in a darkened home

Others met you since
and shared, unwittingly,
the same experience
unforgettable, and profound

As winter winds lash
and the sun barely shines
Your smile, music and memories
remain with me

She that knows all
waits still
in the Window on the West
for the day when you return

Unanswered

So many questions
left unanswered
but that is fine
I'll never know

I'm happy
to have known you
I'm wistful
for what did not happen for you

The wishes
left unfulfilled
the long nights
of what might have been

I'm happy you were happy
with cats, and songs and words
cats of yesteryear
you have now been reunited with

What happened to Torran
we all know
what happened to Faili
I may never know

In the sunshine you lived
livening up the afternoons
for those listening
on An Radio 105

You left us
in peace
quietly
in the night

So many questions
left unanswered
swim strong, mermaid
I can still hear your voice

Sophia - a year on

A year ago today (November 6th), I was made aware of the death of a friend, Sophia Dale. She was two years younger than myself, and we had met in March and April 2013 in Tigharry and Lochmaddy in North Uist. I was amazed at the strength of emotion that her passing evoked in me, particularly bearing in mind that I had not seen her for more than six years. Sophia was a very unique personality, a bright light that did attract me. After talking on-line for a couple of weeks, we decided to meet in North Uist. We hit it off and became close, Sophia being one of those people I found it easy to open up to - and reciprocally. She made me aware of her depressive illness, and how she coped with that: by going for a stomp on the beach and the machair each day. Sophia loved music and singing, it was her life. She loved to dance along the roads, singing to the skies and the birds. Her constant companion since the autumn of 2012 was her little black cat Torran. Sophia acquired another black one whilst in Tigharry, which she called Faili. It was pretty feral, but it took to Sophia. I don't know what happened to Faili when she moved to Berneray. I last met Sophia in April 2013 in Lochmaddy. Circumstances meant I was unable to keep in touch beyond 2014.

Then came the message on the Berneray page that Sophia had been found dead in her home. Her cat Torran was found a few days later, distraught. It was taken in by one of Sophia's close friends, and is now quite happy and settled in her new forever home. But she's still wondering, I'm sure, what had happened to her guardian. She's still expecting her tall, lanky form to come striding up the path to take her home. Which she will do, one day.

A lovely commemorative event was organised for Sophia on December 1st last year. Her family had come over from her native Australia, and took an active part in the church service and ceilidh afterwards. Sophia had been cremated, and part of her ashes were scattered on her beloved machair in Berneray. The rest was scattered into the sea at her hometown in Australia.

Swim strong, mermaid. I know you're out there, with Torran. I still hear your voice, not just from recordings. I still see your face, and not just from photographs.

You're with us, with me, forever, wherever we all go.

In memoriam - one year on

Six years ago
Only three brief evenings
I was always early
as you gently chided me

I came in from the
sunsplashed March evenings
the sun soon dipping
towards the western horizon

We chatted away
as you faded into darkness
only that one lamp lit
just for me

You reached out to me
and touched me gently
not physically
but spiritually

I knew your pain
what could have been
those years before
a promise left unfulfilled

The beach and the machair
were your release and your relief
you touched the rocks and stones
to touch mother earth

Dancing the empty roads
the endless machairs
singing the curving strands
of Uibhist bho Thuath

I could not leave you
that final night
the wrench was
almost physicaly painful

I'll never forget
that serene wistful smile
greeting me
at your little house's door

Or that final good-bye
a month later
in the House of Music
I could not let go

I did let go
and we each went our way
I'm glad you were happy
before you left this life

I know little Torran
is happy in her new forever home
still waiting
for you to come to collect her

You were taken back
to where you last lived
You were taken back
to where you first lived

But all who remember you
All who met you and loved you
Carry you with us forever
so you are not really gone

Short story XXVI

The two lighthouses winked out their warnings. Their characters were not synchronous, but every few minutes, their signals coincided. The skies above were ink black, but a veil of innumerable stars stretched from horizon to horizon. A gentle swell ran ashore, culminating in an almost apologetic 'plop' as each wave ran out onto the sand. Shells were briefly carried up, but then rapidly streamed down with the returning tide. No wind blew that night. The marram grass in the dunes stood still, not a blade bent in the cold night air. The birds of the sea were quiet. To the southeast, low over the tops of the dunes lining the beach, Orion's belt rose into the sky, followed by the stars of the winter night. When Sirius appeared, the scene was set. A shadow appeared on the rim of the dunes.

Well past midnight. The streetlights had long since gone off, and only the odd light shone from some of the houses. Each stood alone in its own patch of land, never far from the rocky shore. The sea lapped ashore, but there was no discernible sound. Sheep lay asleep, some in the tarmac of the roadway, as if to absorb some latent warmth. The day had been sunny, but only for a few hours, and had long given way to the night. Stars winked over the water to the east, and outlined the bulk of low hills in the background. A lonely car slowly purred its way through the township, presently pulling up outside one of the houses. The two occupants alighted, slammed the doors shut and walked up to a house. Their voices carried on the still night air, before they disappeared inside and were shut in behind a door. A cow lowed in the distance. Navigational beacons blinked offshore, marking the hazardous passage. The lights in one house were presently extinguished. Nearby, cats from the township prowled in the undergrowth. A shadow disappeared, as Sirius rose in the southeast.

The last light faded to the southwest, as warm airs wafted ashore. The ocean swell ran ashore, inexorably, as it had done since time immemorial, and would still be doing beyond the age of man. A sward of sand ran the length of the coast, for hundreds of miles. Groups of people sat outside, enjoying the late spring warmth, quietly enjoying a pint or a glass, munching a few bites to eat. A few intrepid souls were out in the waves, as wisps of high cloud wafted slowly by. Lights went on in the beach side cafes, and the houses beyond. The stars of the south came out as the sunlight whisked off west, with Orion's belt almost overhead, Sirius not far below. Although Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, Canopus, some way below it, is a good second. Oh, the two lighthouses would never see it. Neither would the scattered township of sheep and marram grass.

The wind started to blow, bending the blades of the marram grass towards the northeast. The swell slowly rose, until the beach was fringed with white foam. Seaweed was pushed ashore, gathering up just beyond the tideline, as the tide began to fall. Beyond the dunes, the flat lands stretched towards the hills lining the horizon. As the sun rose, bird calls punctuated the start of the winter's day. Vestiges of green remained, a memory of or promise towards summer. Dark browns and dull yellows reminded of the current season, winter. No one moved, although as the tide fell, a line of footprints began to emerge from the dunes.
The sand swirled into the dunes from the beach, whipped up by the strong winds blowing in from the ocean. The footprints were soon lost from sight, covered by seaweed, filled in by sand or washed away by the surf. Beyond the dunes, the houses stood in their scattered loneliness, almost bowed down into the winter gale. They looked out over the pristine curve of the beach, beyond which the tower of the lighthouse rose to the west, and further islands loomed on the horizon. The roads lay empty, with few venturing out. Best to hunker down, and wait for the winds to abate.

The cold wind howled in from the north, winter on its last legs, but reluctant to relinquish its hold. In frustration, it threw hailstones across the landscape. Rain lashed down, horizontally, as the wind ramped up to galeforce. Shaking the bare branches of the rowantrees, it thundered in the chimneys and whistled in the telegraph wires. The landscape was once more wiped into a curtain of grey, through which a lonely shadow appeared. It turned a corner, upon which the sun suddenly flashed through the clouds, splashing colour across the fields - but only for a moment.

With a whimper, the storm faded away and the sun finally came out. Not for long, it was westering already. The road was empty. The rowan tree did not dare stand up straight, best be prepared for the next onslaught. Some stories they have to tell, do the old rowans. You'll find them around a lot round here. Always on the windward side of a house, sheltering it from our perennial gales. Sometimes, you'll see a rowan tree near just a heap of stones, or a chimney stack. All that is left of what once was a home. The rainwater trickled down the drains on either side of the road. A car whizzed past, splashing up spray from the earlier rain. As the sun dipped towards the horizon, shadows grew long.
In the last light of the day, the wind whispered through the grass. Where previously, there had been colour, now only outlines remained. A sheep, a cow. Fence posts, sometimes leaning at precarious angles. Abandoned bath tubs and various pieces of agricultural machinery, rusting into the ground. The contours of the hills stood out darkly against the skyline. As daylight faded altogether, the wind sighed through the branches of the rowan. A shadow flitted towards the house.

The rowan's bare boughs flexed in the wind, unseen in the darkness. Stars now shone brightly overhead as the moon sank towards the western horizon. The two lighthouses blinked, every few minutes in unison as their characters coincided. Some would say that a rowan would tell stories, tales of the families that had lived their lives in the house by which it stood. And, more often than not, a family would move away. Overseas, across the oceans. The rowan would lament their departure, telling their story to the wind, its anguish at their leaving and its hope for a return. Even as the house lost its roof, its windows, its walls - the rowan would grow tall. But here, the house stands firm in the teeth of the winter storms. The rowan shelters it, and hears the stories of its people.

The door fell shut. Darkness reigned, under a myriad of stars. Nothing moved in the house. From one of the neighbouring properties, the faint sound of music rose into the night sky. Although there was no streetlighting, the path was clear to see. So often, torches and streetlamps just dazzle. The shadow disappeared down the roadway, and a profound silence ensued. The rowan shivered in the night breeze.

Canopus and Sirius rose high in the spring sky as the swell ran ashore. Music rang out from the waterside bars and restaurants, while some people cavorted in the waves at the water's edge. Although darkness had long since fallen, the warmth of the day remained. Groups of people remained outside, talking softly into the night. A shadow moved among them, unseen, unperceived. It presently disappeared towards the strand - did it go into the sea?

Was it an echo, or imagination? Lively music spilled from brightly lit windows, left open in spite of the coolness of the night. Dancers swirled around the floor to familiar strains, whilst musicians and singers took turns. The House of Music. The moon shone in the western sky, highlighting the bare branches of the rowan. As if through coincidence, one of the singers launched into a song about the moon, which would light the way. A cloud rolled across the face of the westering moon, and the music faded. Only the sound of the Atlantic surf remained, carried inland on the mild night breeze. It blew through the branches of the rowan, swaying them as if it was telling a tale. A tale of the House of Music.

Stars scattered across the heavenly dome as if painted with brush strokes. That night, it did not matter where they were viewed from, it was a dazzling display. A shooting star completed the spectacle. It was past midnight, but time was not of the essence. The waves of the ocean thundered ashore, and the nightwind rustled in the blades of grass. The light in the house went out, after a little black shadow jumped out of a window. Off for its nightly foray for rodents. Not long after, although temporally irrelevant, the door opened. For moment, the shadow stopped to look round. There would be no return. Sensing those spiritually close, even if geographically distant in many cases, it reached out. With a smile, so familiar in life, it stepped down the road, a bounce soon turning into a dance. In daylight, a broad smile would have adorned its face. In this sphere, a singing voice would have been audible. Passing through the machair, it reached the dunes, and ran down to the water's edge. It stopped, for a final pause. The smile dropped, and the music faded. The little black shadow was suddenly startled by an inexplicable, searing sense of loss. Turning round for a final time to face the dunes, the shadow bade a silent farewell to this world.

Full circle

The year's well-nigh full circle
Autumn's weighing us down once more
I have thought of you quite often
since you slipped away beyond the sea

I'm happy you were happy
doing what you did each day each week
your smile lighting up the little isle
and the beaches machair and the sea

Your voice lives on in all our minds
retained on-line for posterity
although it is stilled for good
we can remember you as if still there

You welcomed me into your home
the little cottage on the narrow road
talking into the darkness of
those cold but beautiful March nights

We shared a love of music
of the environment of these isles
a penchant for words and phrases
and for cats, black or whatever colour

Torran is still waiting, happy where she is
I know she misses you
not knowing where you went
you will meet again, one day, many moons from now

We parted after an evening of music
not knowing it was to be for good
It was touch and go - a hug and kiss
and off into the night you went

I'll always picture you 'front my mind's eye
in the sunshine of that March evening
flooding in through the Window of the West
with little Torran by your side

Swim strong, Sophia
Under the stars beyond this world
Sing on, Sophia, forever more
We'll meet again, when the time comes