Poetry Map of Scotland, poem no. 168: Wester Ross


Mid-June and there’s new
snow on Liathach
the mountains here
have no time for seasons
they’ve seen Ice Ages
come and go

Their roots grip
the earth’s core
their summits
converse with clouds

And we who crawl around their feet
kiss the face of time in passing
as mayflies flick the silver water
spawning a future that shines and fades


Kirk Saunders

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