By Elizabeth Prata
In the mid-1990s I took a trip to Scotland with my husband. I loved the place. It was beautiful, eerie, full of mystery and history. We went to the Isle of Arran, and spent a few days. One thing to do on Arran is tramp the moors (I always wanted to do that and I always wanted to say that!) over hill and dale, climb the stile, and visit the standing stones circle erected during the Bronze Age. It was uphill which was a slog but at the top the view of the Firth of Clyde and the distant Kintyre Peninsula was amazing.
Along the hike we got into a rhythm of walking that let my mind formulate a poem that matched our walking. I created it and memorized it as we went, writing it down when we got back. By the way, as we tramped, the fog rolled in and our hike back was chilly. We were chilled to the bone and elected to sit in front of the fire at the local pub and sip a whisky. I'd never had a whisky but after the chilly tramp in the fog on an island with salt air and night coming on, brrr, we immediately understood the warming benefits of liquor and the coziness of the fire!
Here is my poem The Standing Stones of Machrie Moor
The rain did come
to chill our bones
to beat us back
from Machrie Stones.
On we pushed
to see the stones
to wander amidst
the cattle moans
The wind did rise
and swirl about
to sting our tears
and make us doubt.
The lonely sentinels
standing guard
unfazed by changes
of land and laird
They stand today
silently proud
Bronze Age remnants
not broken, not bowed
The sea, the stones
the moor, the rain
Bonnie Scotland
I'll return again.
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