Praise of a road



You won't let me forget you. You keep nudging me
With your hairpin bends or, without a Next, please,
Magic-lanterning another prodigious view
In my skull where I sit in the dark with my brains.

You turn up your nose above Loch Hope,
That effete low-lier where men sit comfy
In boats, casting for seatrout, and whisper
Up the hill, round the crag - there are the Crocachs.

You're an acrobat with a bulrushy spine,
Looping in air, turning to look at yourself
And faultlessly skidding on your own stones
Round improbable corners and arriving safe.

When the Crocachs have given me mist and trout
And clogs of peat, how I greet you and whirl
Down your your half-scree zigzags, tumbling like a peewit
Through trembling evenings down to loch Eriboll

Norman MacCaig, from The Poems of Norman MacCaig

more about the film  here
more Assynt tales and beautiful images found in ian's blog
it's festival time
a man in Assynt

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