Dusk on Ardnamurchan
The winding trail that beats its way amongst the scattered stones,
looks down upon the circle of mists and brown pine cones.
Descending through the lowlands, towards the end of the day,
I walk along the marshlands across Kilchoan Bay.
It’s dusk, again I’m climbing, in hills the gods anoint,
by Strontian and Moidart, to Ardnamurchan Point.
As sunset paints the hills with gold that fades the velvet green,
the daylight now is fading, the air is crisp and keen.
The night throws down her thick black cloak, across an orange sky,
and winds drop to a whisper, to breathe a lover’s sigh.
Small scintillating dots appear, a shimmering quilt of light,
new stars, across a moonlit dome, are tucking in the night.
And I am still out walking, in light mists white as milk,
as, through the clouds, the sliding moon glows in her silvery silk.
The hills are huddled too in fog, draped over like a shawl;
cold icing sugar sights and smells, I almost feel them all.
As darkness plunders lowland oaks, and elders bow respect,
I lay me down, and wonder, at proud Nature’s architect.
And as I sleep on cross-leaved heather, purple bell and ling
I dream about tomorrow, and what the day will bring.
I’m heading down to Sanna Bay, the home of basking sharks,
Where utter peace and stillness is stitched by unseen larks.
Through leafed Atlantic oak woods, to shelter, under rowan
in beautiful Ardnamurchan, a jewel in Scotland’s crown.
