31 10 07

Five days after full moon & still there’s light through torn clouds greater than the starlight, looming Ben Resipole at the end of the road I’m walking. No lights but for these. All the steading lights are out across the bay; the stags are no longer moaning in Moidart or Laga. Late curlews waver their calls across the leaden sea at Eilean Dubh. The cold bites the bridge of my nose & I’m suddenly & unassailably happy & singing: the sign painted on the road bend is SLOW & oh I don’t hurry; I step slowly into the night’s mysteries & out across the turf under which a million infinitesimally small creatures lead their lives in the forever dark, through which owls & bats swoop thick & noiselessly & the slugs slowly curve their way. Fresh rain drops on my hatless head; my neighbours the mountains dream on.