My eyes still fought with sleep. Out over the fields
Mist lay in grey folds, from vague somewheres
Curlews rose up with thin trails of crying. Our lanterns
Rocked in soft globes of yellow, our feet
Slushed through the early morning thickness of the grass.… ....Read the rest
Almost every week I travel to the west coast of Scotland by one of the finest railway lines I’ve ever experienced – that linking Glasgow and Oban. It passes through some of the most beautiful landscape Scotland possesses, until it arrives at the western edge, where an island-studded coastline begins.
… ....Read the rest
We forget all about them
in the year’s darkness, in the long winter.
Without a sound they are there one morning;
a kind of sunlight grown from the ground –
as if some call had woken them
from the underworld of their sleep,
out into the middle of March
to Easter the earth with their heads.… ....Read the rest
Once upon a time they came in clouds
to dip and swivel over opened fields;
the spring wind, patched with sunlight,
and lapwings up above and all around –
a shimmer of iridescent green.
Now there are no more.
I hear their absence, waken in the early light
knowing they are gone and won’t return.… ....Read the rest
The first volume of short fiction which I put together over six or seven years was entitled The Ice and other stories. It was a sheer labour of love. I wanted all the stories to have a track record, to have appeared in literary journals both at home and abroad.… ....Read the rest