The city exhales a fever of light
as the crowds reach for the newborn year;
New Year’s Eve throws the windows wide
and drowns the dark in a collective cheer.

The future hums with a restless promise;
and change is claimed in motion,
a thousand voices caught in the rush
of a vast and rising ocean.

​But somewhere in the Highlands,
Hogmanay* lingers at the door,
keeping watch on the fire and silence
and the path we’ve walked before. View Post

The sky has returned
to its familiar grey.
It has shed the mask
of bright blue
and loosened its grip
on the sun —
a long exhale
after weeks of carrying
the light.

It carries that weight
no longer. View Post

Even to the sky,
the morning is only a murmur.

It stirs slowly,
shifting under its own weight,
gathering colours
like edges of a dream.
Rolling light
between its palms,
not quite ready
to let go of the night. View Post

It is almost
always
the fireworks
and illumination,
champagne pops
and jubilation
that signal the naissance
of a new year.

But may a quieter light
find you
this year;
like a gentle beam of sun
warming
through the windows
A sunrise here to stay,
not fleeting fireworks
barely passing over shadows.

View Post

Every battle
turns war.

Like an interlude
rising into chorus.

Swords moving through the silhouettes,
and the vital red
falls
to the floor

Just like that minor chord
that makes the score.

View Post

Silence.
Stillness.
Peace.
Fulfillness.

Watching
the quiet roads.
Watching the clouds
cry to the earth
in despair. View Post

“I love you.”
Three
simple words.
Two
simple people.

Stripped down and bare
like two souls getting in touch.

We could make it extravagant.
Florid and voluptuous of words.
But we leave it a testament
of us.

Like birds
in a bucolic setting.
Like the crisp breeze
in a country dwelling.
Rare, and simple, and natural.
Bare, and simple, and factual. View Post