Sunday, August 20, 2006
Cuillinsligah bothy for wire wool socks & eerie dogs - An t-Eilean Sgitheanach
We move back from the boulders, & fling ourselves breathless into the sky. Huddled for storms & mud stomped braes pouring down into the crackling hearth, where the dog will twitch later, unquiet & fanged in his sleep...a tidal wave of ferocious stone falling overhead of us. Somebody kicked the Cuillin while it slept again...it happens like that, & we're all out at sea. The old black kettle, a night of grade yarns & legends & laughter, balancing the storm, the thundering hooves of insane wind, & we ride the Cuillinsligah bothy...our tiny boat out into blackness beyond boundary...It's often the way for us - mountain fishermen. Tomorrow in the calm & the darklight & firstlight, we will harvest myths of boulders & scurrying grades for conversationlists treading skilless tarmac...leave whispers of traces. We will swing Nor'West up along Cairn Liath amongst The Phial & Iconoclast & harvest, leviathan swarms.
posted by ※Sgian Dubh ※ at 6:48 PM | 
0 Comments:
Post a Comment ~ back home
