The Ascent

Misty muted days in Scotland part before you making room for your own silence. Now Beinn Mhòr's summit is under my feet There was no spectacle, no one to shake hands with. Yet as I stood, shakily at the top, looking down upon 'Loch na Keal' far below, I felt like a real climber. That night back at an Isle of Mull pub an old timer, (a small dog at his feet), leaned toward me. He appeared to be blind and used a white stick. He politely inquired had I gained the peak? With some pride I declared that I had conjured the mountain! He supped his beer thoughtfully. ”Aye laddie, tis good to stretch yor legs a bit, I used to climb her twice a day but yer see yon wee dog is getting old noo.” I paid for his ale and quietly left.