Crocii with bumble bee

Clachnaharry

 

A ribbon of water,

Still, not flowing,

Held back by gates,

Wooden not metal.

Tailored by Telford,

Linking lochs and lochans,

Open now for

Yachts,

Widgeons,

Swans,

Puffers,

Fishing boats,

and herons.

 

At Clachnaharry

The great Caledonian Canal spills into the sea,

Beyond he last lock,

The most northernmost lock

In mainland Britain,

Where once I saw an otter

Doing the breast stroke,

And diving deep without a care.

 

 Ben Wyvis is always visible from Clachnaharry,

Clachnaharry, meaning ‘stone of repentance.'

I always mean to repent,

But I never quite manage it

In the last pub before Norway,

Somewhere  beyond the pint

Of no return.

(For Berger)