Being here

Being here has always mattered more
than where I'm going. So.
To be aware of the elusive scent
of myrtle in the sun, to catch
the distant gleam of wet rock
in the corrie's dark recess,
to note the brown swirl of the timeless burn
- all this erodes its own path,
creates a time-worn journey in my soul,
a path to which I turn without a thought
of where it all might end.
The upturned wings glide overhead
- a whisper passing in the breeze -
and if I never know I have arrived
so be it. I am here.

©C.M.M. 07/12

I recorded the opening of this poem on my camera as I was in this glen; it came to me and I knew I would forget it otherwise!