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    Gaia's Cloth

    Tuesday, September 4, 2018

     

    Skirting the hills between highland lochs

    through the wild Scotch mist, a muted cloth;

    a weave no clan can claim to hold

    and yet it belongs to the fair attuned.

     

    The crouching heather weaves its course;

    a soft purple haze, tethered and taught

    whilst rusting bracken, trampled and flattened

    repeats the pattern of this pre Jacobite plaid.

     

    Naked streams like invisible seams

    thread themselves through a deeper green

    where outlaws roamed and love ran deep,

    laced into the loam, their secrets seep.

     

    Tight lush lines and serrated pine tops

    fray the borrowed light above this unhemmed cloth;

    sylvan green textured with lichen

    softened by moss now intersecting

     

    a place where dryads and urisks dwell

    their mischief pleated across the fells

    where Children of the Mist ran daring raids;

    their sobriquet spun in the weaver’s frame.

     

    Spread out before me this ancient plaid

    where yarns of lore and legend are laid

    from lowland hills to highland glens

    the past is bound in nature’s blend.

     

    Among the brutal beauty of the highland lochs,

    I’ll wrap my heart in Gaia’s cloth.

     

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