A wonderfully powerful and poignant poetry piece on changes in the Scotland we used to know.
Walking in a Summer Haze
A tower rises from sleeping fields
like a recurring childhood dream.
It fades from sight, slipping
off the edge of our world.
Cross the dark gallop of woods
held back by this ancient spur of land.
We are lost, rolled into hay bales
and forgotten in the waning sun.
Your tongue tastes of dusty apples
gathered for the coming winter.
In the sad, heavy pull of dusk,
crows paint the trees with rasping wings.
If we hover over the city we will meet
the violet sky in its crawl towards night.
We are cradled together,
a shell thumbprint in limestone,
fighting the weight of time.
The first bucket for windfalls,
sweet rotted mush,
shrivelled apples girning faces.
The children shimmy up
jaggy, lichen-strewn branches.
Laughter flutters in the leaves
followed by thudding rosy rain.
My old bike basket fills.
The bruised offerings left
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