WALKING THROUGH SCOTLAND
In the company of friends
And the rhythm of sticks
I spy a blue fly on green fern
Sheep grazing in the distance
Tufts of wool dangling from fences
Bluebells line the path with yellow anenome,
Purple geranium, wild rose, ferns
and blossoms of which I have no name
Rain falls from heavy clouds
White water spills over the faces of dark rocks
Into bubbling pools
The land begs verse
We end each day foot weary but filled
Seeing more by seeing less
We end each day bedding at inns in quaint towns
Savoring warm bowls of soup
And cups of hot tea