North, and Inland


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After concentrated motoring
from Glasgow,
north, and inland,
and having hardly slept,
I walked out
into the primal light.

I took a long slow look at the land,
and in that look, fractured
the inarticulate wilderness
as it wordlessly sang.

I had no gift of a language for it,
so the images hung,
unframed and strange, in a corner of me.

The far-off moos
of distant cows
thundered the sky.

Grasses clung
heavily to the earth
with the odd gust
flopping them as one,

so they sounded
like flightless birds
wetly slapping their wings.

Or,
like a shushing in a library.

I wasn’t sure.

The rain had given up.

Nothing consciously happened here.

And as I fought to become part of it all,
I surrendered all mindfulness,
instinctively knowing
there are no lonelinesses in nature.

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