At the very least it ought to be a reflective letter
A piece to look back a good distance, looking back
From the safe vantage point of lost communication
I have been taken by the vistas
On several occasions the multifarious hillocks
Would catch the evidently varying light
The machair, for that is these Islanders name
For the strip of land between dune and farm
Or between dune and croft
The machair would be lit as a line
To underline the horizon
That separates sea from sky
I expected to feel more touched
By the expanse of solitude
It has not been so
Not that one could say
That the Islanders revel
In parties or conversation
Perhaps they need a long breath of finer weather
& clearer skies, but they have not yet borne
Their dark weight upon me
I have this desire, an urge to open out my life
To take full advantage of all the beauty
You included, that has so far befallen me
This journey
Into and through my subconscious
To be chartered by my superficial soul
The writer, the voice
Though no singer, I do aim to carry songs
As would the reader, to and fro
From the birdcage of my soul
To steal the words
Of one song from everybody’s past
