December Morning, Loch Tummel
Single greylag resonates in indigo air
Solid limina conceals liquid loch
Whinnies under weight of foot.
The shuffle of the woodcock, tawny insulation,
crosses the opal print of the hare.
Trees balance
atmospheric fingerprints on stark limbs,
sap alive within.
Sistine blue asserts itself behind cumulo-sunrise.
Snow falls from the wires like down shed from a goose, emigrating
for the final time.
Evening, late January
The trees are like Chinese calligraphy
against the pale parchment of the winter dusk.
Still and intricate.
And saying much in a language that I cannot speak.
The rilling burn chatters to the loch
where dabchicks stutter into flight
on a soundboard that gives way
to something else
beneath their feet.
Lead image: Loch Tummel © Anna Welch