Dawn Dreams in a Glasgow Cafe

Glasgow, Scotland
July 15, 2018

Mid-July and zipped into layers, 

I huddle by the high glass walls 

of a Sauchiehall Street coffeehouse 

on a rain-soaked morning in Glasgow.

It is Sunday. Restless seagulls 

patrol the glistened streets. Pigeons 

pick manna from cracks in the sidewalk. 

Strangers roll suitcases down the damp plaza.

But I dream of the highlands – 

forests of birch and pine, 

breath of mist and fir. 

I kneel in the humus of needles and moss

and ponder the ruins of castles and clans 

wrought by the bonnie princes of war. 

A puff of wind ruffles the mirror-face 

of morning over an inland loch. 

I slip out of the chandeliered foyers 

and opulent halls of the once-important.

Sunlight cascades through cathedral trees 

and wavelets kiss the sea-aster shore.

Above villages swollen with summer –

sticky toffee, shops selling tartan –

I climb the bracken hillsides to high heather. 

Wind sweeps in from Iceland. My fingers numb

and somehow it’s August. How soon 

we haste to the land of before where dreams 

devolve to memories, cropped and cleaned, 

and hung in the hall by a wide-open door.

Here is a link to photos and video clips (cropped and cleaned) that accompany this poem. Thanks to Tracy Elder for leading our group through the Highlands and Islands.