da pressit muse

De Gab o May? Perhaps.
Needin a stavaig ,we took da draatsie's wie
doon tae the shore e die.
Muckle shoor-heids,
chaffie-seks stuffed wi rain, soar  abune the toon.


The Bodach  tho is keen tae be awie.
Fegs, he disnae mind a drookin.
Near Caldwell ,we gae bye a Sycamore,
in bud-brak, leaves, freesh opened, silk-saft, crumpled, 
waitin fir the flux o sap; a spangling o
Pink Purslane anunder its lichened boughs.


Through the slap and doon
past a hedge
o wind trimmed May, (nae blossom yet)
and planted White-beam saplins,
a Roddie or twa, and Bourtree.
On the ither side
o the loan the intense coconut
scent  o Gorse floors.

Bye the bruxed
style, we watch a pale,  sandy
coated hare, maist prabablie, a Jill.
Soon, she feeds a haresbreeth
awie fae us: nervously, lightly,
pickin her wie delicately
amang  the meedo rashes.

She his an ancient face, this Lang Lugs
lit by deep atavistic fires.
Luik tae close
intil the furnace o a hare's eye
, is tae risk  faain intil
a clivvie o enchantment
It's a lang wie doon.


The burn e day
threeds its wie doon through
a rich braidcloth
woven wi gowds and greens and reids:
Marsh marigolds, buttery Primroses,
Reid campion, Seggie-spears,
the delicate mauvy blues o Gowk-floor.

Whaur it braids o'er the ford
stanes da burn sings, murmurs, plays wi licht
and soond.

Whaur the banks are steeper
and beasts excluded, trees re-assert
themselves and we pass doon through
a sheltered dale, wooded wi'   Willows,
Alder, Birks
Aspen and Hazel.

The scrub Willows
are in floor and the catkins
are a -buzz wi haists o bees: honey
bumble and peedie solitary bees; a'
hairstin pollen

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Grimmlins bee...
Da Mune's bowat
her only licht