From Scotland
A three-part postcard.
Aberdour
(6th of December, 2024)
Yes, Edinburgh's near sublime, Its architecture very fine, Telling tales of grander times, But Aberdour, A town just to the north, you'll find A hidden flower. To Aberdour, we did go, And there did we so gently know A rest as soft as thistle blown, A time sublime, So truly did it's caress show A world divine. There saw we crumbling castle rock, And empty church of pilgrim stock, Which did our subdued praise unlock. There sung we hymns, Against the coldly clicking clock, To hushéd winds. There ate we haggis here and there, As sea squalls lingered in our hair, And we explored the coastline fair. The stone outcrops, Green grass and yellow flowers paired; The ticking stopped.
Craigellachie
(2nd of December, 2024)
The finest highland weather to expect, Upon the end of Autumn and the start Of fierce and frosty Winter's pale prospect, Is sleet then snow then sleet again in parts. But in-between the soft and slow deluge, A dappled sunlight might break through and deign To give you just a moment's warm refuge; A sight of majesty which will not wane. For few who've looked upon the highlands harsh, Their stone and heather rippling in the rain Of sun-showers that all too quickly pass, Will ever after see a fairer plane. In all its frigid, windswept attributes, Which can by fireside and Scotch or ale, Be brought to comfort well beyond dispute, Craigellachie of the highlands did not fail ... Though Winter cannot help but spread it's woe, The highlands, in all seasons, peace bestow.
Wonder-Blind
(30th of November, 2024)
An afternoon approaches When you'll be too weary to look; When your eyes have taken in More than would fill a hundred books; When the wonder of the world Will reach your uppermost brim, Such that just to look upon A single leaf within the breeze Will be enough to topple you And all the lies you thought you knew. You'll collapse there on the road, Your heart will blind you with its tears And sleep will claim you and your load Until your dreams have met your fears, Even if it be years, and years and years. That afternoon approaches. Mind you fill your books; Mind you measure your looks, Lest at the thousandth glance You see the wonder all at once, And are blinded by a leaf.
Cheers, James. This was my first time in Scotland; I also have quite a bit of Scottish in me, and felt a similar welcome when we took a bus through the highlands from Glasgow to Inverness. I actually wrote the third poem in this postcard on that bus trip, trying to describe the kind of exhausted sense of wonder and homecoming that filled me as I watched the landscape through the window. On top of all the beauty we'd already seen in the first month of travel, the unrivaled peace I was experiencing in the highlands seemed to break my ability to comprehend it's depth ... If that makes sense ... Such a strange sentiment to try to describe; perhaps I'll have another go at these poems (next year; with some more distance) to try to capture it a little better. I really appreciate you following along, and I'm glad you're enjoying the postcards ... One from Northumbria or Denmark soon!
Thank you so much for sharing those photos, Peter. I've been to Scotland only the once, but it left a permanent impression on me. Your photos are exactly as I remember it.
(I visited before I learned the true history of the Appalachian mountains, where I grew up. At the time I visited Scotland, I wasn't aware of the Central Pangean Mountain range and the fact that both my home area and Scotland are both part of it. No wonder the place felt so welcoming and familiar.)