The slow way we walk to

the edge of the sea

with fable, with Hallam

The kettle storms on the stove

welsh cakes and oat coloured

mugs of our favourite tea

I’ve collected shells far and wide

Despite the minch’s rage

to sit upon the old desk here

may it rain on forever

that we might light the pillar candles

beneath the wild moods of the skies

nurse our cares in stories older than us

the woven bookmarks in mottled green

everything is deeper now to us

as we follow the sacred cycle of the seasons

and the testament of place and lore

at night we play the wild folk songs we love

cleansed by the warm flame of the peat fire

hold onto it now, your place under the stars.