Brig

In the midst o naewhar,
oan a nairrie road
through a lanesome muir,
a brig, abin a burn.

The brig cares nocht
aboot whar ye’ve bin,
nor whar yer gan,
it’s jist a crossin,

stane faced, solid,
takin ye fae yin side
tae the other,
askin fir nithin.

Aa stop haaf wey,
takin time tae gaither.
Afore me the muir, the sky,
the lang road hame.


Bridge

In the midst of nowhere,
on a narrow road
through a lonely moor,
a bridge, above a burn.

The bridge cares nothing
about where you’ve been,
nor where you’re going,
it’s just a crossing,

stone faced, solid,
taking you from one side
to the other,
asking for nothing.

I stop half way,
taking time to gather.
Before me the moor, the sky,
the long road home.

Marram Grass

The grass, they say,
builds the dunes
from wind and sand.
Then holds them in place,
daring the gale
to blow them away
and let the sea
erode the shore.


Let us be
like the Marram grass.
Let us build again
and then hold on
for as long
as this wind blows.
Let us claim our shores,
walk the sands once more.

Some Russian wooden house windows and doors with a windmill thrown in!

Gathering

The sea is just out there,
neither calm nor angry.
It is taking its time,
making up its mind,
sensing the mood
of wind and moon.

There is a tide though,
beneath the surface,
waiting for the moment,
and, when all is gathered,
the sea, as always,
will make its move.

Breaking

The wonder is the way
that water breaks the world,
how the sky is shattered
and clouds cannot hold.

The tree line falls apart
our colours decompose,
boundaries are broken,
and frailties, exposed.

Then, as ripples flatten
and calm returns again,
water, once more becomes,  
a mirror, with no end.                                                                               

waterfall
the river chases
It’s’ own echo

the sound
of rushing water
summer rain 

after the storm
the oldest trees
touch the river 

woodland pond
small waves shatter
the tree line