Poem: BEM

Reading about the Highlands, one is struck by the purple prose the land inspires in certain books or magazines. We seek renewal, regeneration, something spiritual in the land. We seek escape, cover our mountains with ropes to climb up them and call it freedom. Yet freedom is not found up the hills, any more than in any other place. It is a state of mind. Perhaps that state of mind is aided by the wild places; but they are not necessary to it. I was thinking about this the other day, looking at the Buachaille Etive Mor, probably my favourite mountain in Scotland. So here's a poem about it:

Buachaille Etive Mor
Creag Dearg a’ Coe
Proud before our praises
Even the ravens know
We must already be –
    Still man seeks to bind you
    In order to be free.

The Buachaille: