Prompted by Colin's poem? One of my side-effects? Maybe... Whatever!
One for C & C:
The Pass From Coruisk
Maybe dying’s like this:
in the dazed head of the valley
between the grey-green-grey-green mountains
nearing where you pass over,
where heat and the breeze dry sweat
and breathing is so difficult.
Not far now. One look back
at the loch’s calm surface,
the soft sound of the burn
how it holds, gives out its light,
then look up, keep walking.
So where’s Coruisk?
Well, if you want to know then type Loch Coruisk into Google and browse for
a wee while… or
www.the-little-gallery.co.uk/Gallery/Prints
has a canny image – but the place is too much for painting and photographs
IMHO! How's it work in a poem, tho?
Bob
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