Scotland

It requires great love of it deeply to read
The configuration of a land,
Gradually grow conscious of fine shadings,
Of great meanings in slight symbols,
Hear at last the great voice that speaks softly,
See the swell and fall upon the flank
Of a statue carved out in a whole country’s marble,
Be like Spring, like a hand in a window
Moving New and Old things carefully to and fro,
Moving a fraction of flower here,
Placing an inch of air there,
And without breaking anything.
So I have gathered unto myself
All the loose ends of Scotland,
And by naming them and accepting them,
Loving them and identifying myself with them,
Attempt to express the whole.


Hugh McDiarmid


Today Fiona and I were exploring Langholm, birthplace of Christopher Murray Grieve (pen name Hugh McDiarmid). Here we are by his monument at White Hill. We also climbed Warb law, on the opposite side of the Muckle Toon. It was an icy wind which blew around us all day, with sleet and rainbows and sunshine coming and going. We had a picnic in a (slightly) sheltered spot.


A grand day out :-)