The Howe of Fife

The Howe lies driech and grey 
sodden to its very bones
a low-land... once an inland sea
the memories of that time keep surfacing
pooling in the farmer's fields and causing him to curse

The wild grey Geese are here
ever wary as they feed they rise as I approach
wave and wave again...circling….calling
their calls awakening something within me
not of this time but older by far and long-hidden

There was a time when this was forest
wild Boar ran here…. the prey of pampered Royals….
all gone now and the ground long-tamed 
it lies field alongside manicured field in uniform flatness
and each with no time given to catch its breath
before another crop is seeded
another cycle imposed

Little life can I see here in the hard time of the year
the narrow path I walk is frozen hard and treacherous
the fields on each side are waiting….
harbouring life yet suspended….waiting for the Spring
and as with every year I long for it to come.