A car horn is for two things: 1. To indicate peril, threat to life, impending death. In this instance the horn should be used in a sharp, short burst to alert adjacent vehicle(s) to the possibility of a horrible accident about to unfurl. 2. It’s a rural town in Ireland and the local publican’s daughter … Continue reading Beep Beep
When I am on my own for too long, I crave company. Then, when I get to spend time with people, I sometimes want to sit quietly and not talk too much. Companionable silence isn't to everyone’s taste, but it’s worth giving pause, mid-conversation, to check oneself and to assess, as my friend N. used … Continue reading The Mad Ones
In the west of Scotland there’s a tiny island, south of Oban, called Easdale where there are no cars, no roads, no street lamps and about sixty inhabitants. It’s nestled between the Isle of Mull and the mainland, making it feel soft and sheltered, or perhaps that was just the luck of my visit to … Continue reading Simplicity
He had a coffee; I had Earl Grey. His was frothy and a bit cold, he told me; mine was too hot, so I blew on it, not that it made a whit of difference. “From England? You’re walking the whole way from the North of England to Santiago?” “Yes. The one in Spain, … Continue reading There’s a Hole in my Bucket
Auden, Barrett-Browning, Cope, Dickinson, Eliot, Frost, Gallagher, Heaney, Ibsen, Jamie, Kinnell, Larkin, Mahon, Neruda, Owen, Plath, Qabbani, Rossetti, St Vincent Millay, Thomas, Updike, Vaughan, Wordsworth, Xenokleides, Yeats, Zephaniah. Who is your favourite? Feel free to reach beyond the 26 I’ve offered you; I was just playing the alphabet game, and, in doing so, left out … Continue reading Advent
‘The old dog for the long road.’ D. taught me that one when I was much younger, when I had more give in my knees. Back then I got the gist of it, though I can't say I fully grasped its depth of meaning. It is one of those sayings to which you nod when … Continue reading Be Still And Wait
At school I had a very strict Primary Five teacher, Miss M.. I started the year as an innocent eight year old, and ended it as a slightly disenchanted nine year old. No harm done, that’s growing up; isn't it? Miss M. had a great range of ‘wise’, snippy sayings: her no-nonsense approach to education … Continue reading Empty Vessels
The desk at which W.S. Graham wrote his poems has found a home in Edinburgh’s Poetry Library. His chair too, though the seat has been put away somewhere, “for the time being,”the man told me. More suitably described, I think, as a table, it looks like something from a farmyard kitchen as opposed to a study. It’s … Continue reading Wheesht
Ordinarily, my days aren’t fast paced, and even though I think I live a slow life, I can feel the benefit of slowing down even further while I am on holiday. I’m still in Canada, now on Crosby Lake in Lanark County. I’m mesmerised by the woodpeckers I see from my early morning writing spot; … Continue reading A Good Life
We’ve woken up to rain: short, sharp, and torrential. It won't stay for long, but it’s so lovely to hear. How quickly one changes one’s tune! How is it that Scottish rain on a dreich February day doesn't carry this musical and welcome sound? Because there is every possibility that it won’t cease until March or … Continue reading Rain, Heron, Loon
