We do not need road-maps
to be sure of our direction.
No green lights gee us up to go
No red lights halt our progress
Only the passing-places where we greet
stranger and neighbour with a wave
Yet there are times we long to be snared
in a snarl of streets and bye-roads
Caught in a confusion of choices
Bewildered by the breadth of highways
To drive in the knowledge our journey
will not end on a pierhead
Or terminate on a sandblown track
Leading to a rusty cemetery gate.
It also describes Stronsay very well
ReplyDeleteor any other place that resembles heaven--as far away as possible from the cities
ReplyDeleteVery evocative - I like!
ReplyDeleteLovely - do you know which place he wrote it about Arnish?
ReplyDeleteI am told he is from Ness, and particularly the old cemetery there (when approached from the cliff-side) is like that. Approach from the road by the Swainbost store right up to the machair, turn right and follow the track which parallels the cliffs at some distance. Cross the river and you're at the cemetery. The image in the post is actually of Bragar.
ReplyDeleteThat is a lovely poem, minds me of up here as well.
ReplyDeleteLovely words, lovely photo Arnish. Do you think the grass is always greener on the other side?
ReplyDeleteraise the tone of IB momentarily....good man.............RJG
ReplyDelete