Summer
Wind, rain, sun, water, sheep, peat, moss; the sounds of the water gulching in glacial coves; the cuckoo's rocking lilt; the silence of the desert-like sandstone crests of mountains.
This is my every childhood summer. I know every rock; the curlew's distant warble; worn beaches and lost my teeth on them. I am a long term visitor to this elemental place where the world ends. Here lie my family past; the Sky Lark rises on its own lungs; at the summit, the soft, dark water trickles, gathers and burns to a torrent.
All is still and not still, dead and alive, at times all that remains of sound is my own heart beat.
