r2vyln3rdioj14u-rld0ska where mountains meet the sea: August 2016

Abyss



Talisk

King Line



Climbers often search for what many call the “King Line” - this is the perfect route! It will take the best line up the rock face; it has the best climbing on the most exposed section of wall!

I had heard of one such line existing on Lewis that would stand out above all others; it was called “Mega Tsunami” - a fitting name for the wall that rarely see’s waves of less than 10ft high breaking against it’s base on a windy day!
  - Robbie Phillips

Moon

Last night, when the moon
slipped into my attic-room
as an oblong of light,
I sensed she’d come to commiserate.

It was August. She travelled
with a small valise
of darkness, and the first few stars
returning to the northern sky,

and my room, it seemed,
had missed her. She pretended
an interest in the bookcase
while other objects

stirred, as in a rockpool,
with unexpected life:
strings of beads in their green bowl gleamed,
the paper-crowded desk;

the books, too, appeared inclined
to open and confess.
Being sure the moon
harboured some intention,

I waited; watched for an age
her cool glaze shift
first toward a flower sketch
pinned on the far wall

then glide to recline
along the pinewood floor
before I’d had enough. Moon,
I said, we’re both scarred now.

Are they quite beyond you,

the simple words of love? Say them.
You are not my mother;
with my mother, I waited unto death.

Kathleen Jamie, from The Overhaul 

waltzing the stones



"Moving the stones, aye it's the same as though ye's waltzing, in fact I mind a woman saying 'til me, you're like that you're waltzing out there at the back" Hector Sutherland

Northstone 58° Stonefest
Caithness quarries
Castlehill
George Gunn walling

Do Bheithe Bòidheach

Neul a’ snàmh air an speur,
   duilleach eadar è ’s mo shùil;
ùr bàrr-uaine gruag a’ bheithe,
   leug nan leitir cas mun Lùib.

Oiteag ’tighinn bhàrr an tuim,
   a’ toirt fuinn às do dhos,
cruit na gaoithe do bhàrr teudach,
   cuisleannan nan geug ri port.

Àilleagan nan glac seo shìos,
   sìthbhrugh do na h-eòin do dhlùths,
thu gan tàladh às gach àirde,
   iad a’ teàrnadh ort le sunnd.

Ceileireadh ’s e binn binn,
   seirm is seinn air a’ chnoc,
nuair a chromas na h-eòin Shamhraidh
   air do mheanglain ’s mil ’nan gob.

Is fheàrr na ’n ceòl t’ fhaicinn fhèin
   air bhogadan rèidh fon chnap,
seang bàrr-snìomhain amlach ùrar,
   is dealt ’na chùirnein air gach slait.

Deòrsa Mac Iain Dheòrsa  / George Campbell Hay, from Dreuchd An Fhigheadair / The Weaver's Task: a Gaelic Sampler (ed by Crìsdean MhicGhilleBhàin / Christopher Whyte)


To a Bonny Birch Tree

A cloud is floating on the sky
But my eye is lush with green:
Leafage fresh, a visual symphony,

The bonny birch, the hillock’s crown.
A breeze is plucking at the mound,
Sweet sounds rising from your core,

The wind, angelic in each part,
A harp is playing its simple score.
You are the jewel of these hollows.

See swallows light upon the fairy ring.
You have conjured them from air,
From far and near. With joy they sing.

They warble summer melodies,
They merely want to share their joy,
Your branches tremble with their notes.
Their throats are thick with honey.

Lovelier than music is the dance,
Stark elegance of tree and stone.
Your lithe limbs soaked with dew,
The dew like diamonds, tiny suns.


trans by Tracey Herd