Along the Pentland Road, 25 May 2017

Friday, 16 November 2012

Friday 16 November

Overcast today, with some outbreaks of rain as we transition to a colder frame of weather. Wintry showers are possible over the weekend as we dip down towards the 40F mark on the thermometer. I discovered that my walking boots (which I wear every day) have worn away and are about to give up the ghost. I therefore went into some of the local outdoor shops, but they had nothing that fitted my feet. This would ordinarily mean a trip to Inverness, 100 miles and £34 away - but if I can get a repeat order of the same boots, that would make it all a bit easier.

I reported yesterday about the Facebook contact who had suffered sexual abuse at the hands of Dave Lee Travis. Reading the first-hand account makes you sick to the core - even if it happened 30 years ago. I cannot profess to know the person concerned very well, but that's beside the point. And DLT expressing himself precisely the way an abuser would: 'you are worth nothing' - well, that sunk him for good.

Poetry

I have copied my poetic writings onto a separate blogsite, Writings from Castle Town and after today, will blog the poetry there. Those who follow my writings on Facebook will see a feed from that blog on my wall. I am contemplating whether to publish these in book form, but have not yet decided.

Castle Town is a username I adopted on Blipfoto, a site where you can post one photograph each day, something I have been doing for the past 3 years. Castle Town refers to Lews Castle in Stornoway, and to the castle in my home town in the Netherlands. Pictures from both castles are featured in the Writings blog. 

Barvas

A line of four hills
on the southern horizon
The endless sea
stretching out north

The old land falls
from the cliff edge
to its ruins
the sea toys with the stack below

A single line of houses
along the edge of the loch
another line marching
on the opposing skyline

The moorland waters drain off
to rest for a while
in the shallow waters
before merging with the ocean

Ever moving
never still
motion born
of long dead storms

Trains of white riders
charging the shore
A bullying wind
batters the cowering homesteads

Stretching uphill
to end at the church
views opening out
west along the coast

Like so many places
in these old islands
it's given up its people
to seek riches abroad

Or pledge fielty unto death
For a distant king
The village awaits
The return of the departed

Whether in this life
or in the one beyond
At the setting of the sun
Or at the Breaking of the Day