The journey to Sheneval
Cars fly by as you cross the road, to another world,
then silence, the traitor’s gate.
The track wynds through the trees, the river breaks the silence,
The glaciated slabs hide the cliffs, then:
Views of An Teallach open at every turn.
Midges and clegs abound here but not today, too cold, its winter.
Cross the river, is that bridge in the wrong place? Muddy and wet, back on track,
Steep hill, upwards towards the top, the wee cairn, stop, no rush, drink it all in.
An Teallach. Snow plastered, familiar, foreboding.
Open moor, contour round and round, special views,
Every corrie on that great hill has a particular thought. Memories
Fisherfield, these great hills, the light changing, to the West
Youthful memories of companions, some now gone.
Epic days, trying to impress? Pushing it and nearly, losing it?
Descent to Shenevall, steep, slippy and wet,
Eroded now by so many feet.
Collect some wood. The bothy, the deer, they are still there;
Sheneval. It never changes, only the seasons.
Fire on, primeval. Tea in hand, alone with thoughts.
the Deer rattle the door, time for sleep.
Memories – Thanks to the MBA!