Poem: Loch Tulla Bivvy

In the trough of night,
in lonely darkness of walking,
the world plants no new questions.

Just a torchlit circle,
a mean weak circle,
And an unmetalled road.

And always a rythmn,
an easy, rythmn
- I cut the torch.

The pines stretch
to snoring mountain
white capped
his foot in streams.

The crowding pines
a bed of heather
the sleeping pit
a well of stars.

A wild country
wild universe above
and light enough
to see Loch Tulla:

Small, frozen planet!
Jewel of the universe!
Silent motion through the wastes.

Small mind without bounds!
Marvel of life!
In the sleeping night.

In its waters a jewel
a pearl reflected
and darkly stir
the forest creatures.

the owl is watching
the deer avoids me
the crackling forest
the sap-strong pines.

On frozen heather
my presence noted:
my bed is made.
Tufts graze my cheek.
A grey wheel galaxy.

In the trough of night,
in lonely darkness of watching,
the world grows large as heaven.