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PORTPATRICK
An assortment of postcard pretty boats
bob in historic harbour waters
that glint silver highlights.Stone steps,
the source of the Southern Upland Way,
with words chiselled into their surface
telling a tale of the Galloway's history
and, as I climb to the cliff-tops
and the story unravels under my feet,gulls and gannets whirl, wheel and glide
on the mild wind
whistling from the Gulf Stream below................And the black flies fleck the air.
Step by step by step
I reach the top and rest
On a bench that looks as if it should be in a park
but instead of green grass
in front are salty tales of sunken wrecks
and the Irish Sea,
that, today, gently swishes
as if eroding time itself.Periodically I chew the fat
with hill-walking passers-by,
as if a cliff-top consultant................And the black flies fleck the air.
..............................The Yorkshire couple
..............................retired from teaching
..............................the ex-headmaster mimicking
..............................how he was once, bitten on the neck
..............................by an irate parent.
..............................The Ayrshire man
..............................with zoom-lensed cameras
..............................slung round the neck
..............................who sneaked into the clifftop hotel's grounds
..............................like a naughty schoolboy,
..............................getting the perfect position
..............................for his next snap.
..............................and the Sunderland lady
..............................who, when I mentioned
..............................the hypnotic effect of the water,
..............................leaned toward me and, lowering her voice,
..............................told me 'You should have seen
..............................the bay yesterday, the water was
..............................the colour of a baby's eyes.
..............................'as if sharing a guarded secret.
...............And the black flies fleck the air.
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