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.
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