My Heart's In The Highland's. Again.

[f4f3]

Inspired by reading this:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/feb/27/robert-macfarlane-word-hoard-rewilding-landscape#comment-48154388


By the graveyard, Luskentyre
From behind the wall death sends out messages
That all mean the same, that are easy to understand.


But who can interpret the blue-green waves
That never stop talking, shouting, wheedling?


Messages everywhere. Scholars, I plead with you,
Where are your dictionaries of the wind, the grasses?


Four larks are singing in a showering sprinkle
Their bright testaments: in a foreign language.


And always the beach is oghamed and cunieformed
By knot and dunlin and country-dancing sandpipers.


- There's Donnie's lugsail. He's off to the lobsters.
The mast tilts to the north, the boat sails west.


A dictionary of him? - Can you imagine it? -
A volume thick as the height of the Clisham,


A volume big as the whole of Harris,
A volume beyond the wit of scholars.


Norman MacCaig, October 1983