They'll tell you about his effect on this island,
Of how he changed the way people lived and worked
But in all honesty that all pales on me
Compared to his attention to his garden.
You see there's no forests on Lewis
Although they have tried to bring some back
But there's none like you see on the mountainsides
As you catch the bus back to the Ullapool ferry.
There's just moorland with its peat banks
All useful and good in its way,
But you don't get the birds in abundance
And certainly no woodpeckers tapping away.
But at the castle you can walk and pretend,
You're in the shade of the squadron of trees
Lined up from all corners of the globe,
Where the paths cross and weave.
Now if the sun would just shine for a moment
And let me capture the limes and the greens
Of some trees bedecked in their glory
While the blackberries are picked in a punnet
We've got the sea and it's soothing
And the squelch of the moor has its place
But for calmness and joyous serenity
The imported forest's the place.
YOU ARE READING
The Incomer
PoetryA relaying of years amongst an island population seen through the eyes of an incomer, looking beyond our daily fears to find the people inside the house of cards we all live in. The story told in poems and short prose is featured on my weekly blog.
