stillness on the Red Moss and flax almost adrift in soft peat: from lint holes, the memory of sunbeam on sundew and a thousand thousand blues above
jade mounds in bracken, stumps, lighten lighten but never still, always different, ever the same— the sun on metal hexagons on wooden walkways
looking to Bavelaw in the lee of Hare Hill I think of Stanley Roger Green searching for that unfound cairn while Threipmuir glitters
in scenes from a stillway of pinecone and feather can I be dappled by light, by trees? a trunk’s bend and branch’s oscillation a hoverfly lands on this nearly white page
[words and images from a morning walk through the Red Moss of Balerno nature reserve at the foot of the Pentland Hills near Edinburgh, and then along the shore of Threipmuir Reservoir, Friday 2 June 2023.]
At Longniddry Bents, the teeth of the sea gnawing the horizon’s blues. Seven days on from dad’s death, I walk this unfamiliar shoreline unsure how I should feel, and frayed at the meniscus of making-do.
i.m. James Lavelle, 1934-2022 Longniddry, East Lothian, 19 September 2022
Still bent to make some port he knows not where, Still standing for some false impossible shore. And sterner comes the roar Of sea and wind; and through the deepening gloom Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom, And he too disappears, and comes no more.
Matthew Arnold, excerpt from A Summer Night (1852)
These photographs were taken on a walk with Murdo Eason in Leith on 13 July 2019, a million lifetimes ago.