On Your Bike!


The wind brings a chill to Blairgarven today.
It curls, it bites,
it threatens my stance.

My machair is ruffled.
Waves leap and dance.
Whistles the wind –
‘go, go, far away.’

Facing seaward.
My bleak northern shore.
Rain stings my face.
Cold blunts my thoughts.
I’ll hear the train coming
then turn about
and pretend it’s the wind
that’s sending me south.

1983, August

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