Snowblind from the apple blossom’s garden glare
I turn, as I have so often, to wilder walks.
This strata’s as ancient as the world itself,
and the carpet’s starred with tormentil and violet.
Past the belt of planted Sitka spruce
the sky is mixed and busy, sun and shade.
Given choices, I’ll sometimes be a follower, on paths,
and sometimes take a lead through trackless ground.
The route ascends heathery heughs and drops down dips
where tiny streams drain gurgling slopes.
In the palm of the landscape’s hand, waters flow together
to top up a fortunate lochan, reflecting blue.
Birds sing, whether or not a person hears,
and the scents that I enjoy were made for others.
Placing foot before foot, the rhythm of walking
looses the mind to play, imagine, freewheel.
This is no journey with a definite end,
but a simple way of being in the now.
Colin Will, Scotland, UK