MOUNTAINS AND MOLEHILLS
Where was I when I saw those clouds? Somewhere west; somewhere besides a long silver loch with a sandy shore and branches sticking out of the water from the trunk of a fallen fir tree. Away in the hills were the whisps and trails of cloud that cloaked the side of the mountain.
Curls and tendrils; giving thoughts of coldness and a slight damp, but more mystical than horrible; all shot through with patches and rays of sun. All something; something special. The whiteness made the greeny yellow and the purples and the dark stone boulders more fresh, more real, more warm.
We stood and stared and away down in the woods, was the plume of smoke from a man made fire; making me think momentarily of this place before we had cars and trains and cafes to go to.
Somehow that day we were both tired. Soggy with tiredness.
We loved the sights around us; the sea, the rivers the lochs and lochans. We loved the hills and the sky round each bend of road. We loved the sight of the islands and the multi-coloured bands of seaweed on the shore.
Walking on that seaweed with its slippery heft made us giggle; made you clutch my arm for support until you realised that if I fell so would you.
We Searched for treasure amongst the crab shells, the oyster shells and mussel shells and found none but stared open eyed at the colour of the winkles on the rocks.
And still we were tired; sort of dull.
It will sound strange but in our tiredness I found great contentment.
In our desultory amble around charity shops where we found nothing to buy I found more contentment.
Because, let’s admit it, we were fed up. Too much alcohol, too much traveling, too much talking and eating and just generally ‘being’ and all we wanted was to be home; all alone, most probably tucked up in bed; saying nothing to anyone, not answering the phone, not doing anything.
We couldn’t have that but I found my grumpiness bounced on a similar grumpiness in you and we just sort of flowed around it.
We practiced being grumpy together: untalkative and undemonstrative and ‘un’ all sorts of things.
In my tick book of love standards I ran my finger down to the line about boredom and tiredness and thought to myself; I am very happy being bored and grumpy and tired with you.
Hmm what a thing to say. I am now sure I am deeply in love with you because I know that I enjoy being fed up and bored in your company. Beat that you poets of romance!
2014
(Photo: Looking towards Roseneath from Ardmore 10 2020)
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