Part of the joy of a holiday is I get the time to write some poetry – I read a lot too but writing poetry is my mindfulness – it takes me to another place, a space between thinking and being, timeless yet full of emotion. This is one piece and its genesis.
If there’s one thing that you notice when you arrive on Lewis and journey south to Harris it is, spectacular landscapes apart, the lack of trees. Apparently it used not to be the case but now, outside of the persistence of local gardeners the countryside rolls away uninterrupted, at times green beyond lush and at others, lunar rocks tumbled hither and yon. The other noticeable feature is that, while Lewis stays gently undulating, with its small crisp peat-darkened pools, Harris looms, glowering from the heights, corralling you into valleys with vertiginous drops and crystal sharp lochs. These contrasts prompted this sonnet.
Hebridean Love Rivals
Lewis and Harris, rivals in love
For the heart of the Hebridean Queen
Declared, in their ways, ‘I’m willing’ ‘I’m keen’
‘To the heights – To the depths – of my love I will prove.’