a scottish dream

Undulating hills, collapsing on top of each other.

Beneath the heather's purple bloom,

amber and magenta, a riot of hues.

Deep forests draped on valley slopes, 

interlaced by lochs, where shadows deepen,

reflecting skies both fierce and calm.

The scent of pine needles, sharp and clean,

drifts on the wind, a whisper of the wild.

Rusty red flats, a guttering glow,

pavement slick beneath the blue-purple night.

A rhythm echoes on the street,

as shadows creep across the tenements.

A flicker of movement, a boy who flies,

Peter Pan above the chimney pots.

Clay rises, warm against the cooling air,

and lights, like scattered stars, begin to pierce the velvet dark.

A pint raised high: a Scottish brew,

in a Glasgow pub, a warm, familiar crew.

No magic spells, but simply life, 

woven through joy, and sometimes strife.