Hebridean Dusk...Brian Carter
It is the end day;
silence like sunlight on the blood
gathers in the thoughts
and leaves one dream
lapping at the margins
of the bay.
The mountains fold their wings
of shadow,
retreat into themselves
like old men with nothing
left to say;
birds settle on their songs,
cattle kneel in the dew,
and lambs no longer play
in the fields above
Loch Buie.
Now is the time
for the mind to wander
higher than the peaks of Mull,
higher than the first pale stars.
Snowfire burns between darkness
and darkness,
the islands turn inward
upon themseves,
and vanish, one by one.
