It Was Like the Surface of the Moon

It looks like

the surface

of the Moon, he said.

Later

after a bit of research

which is what I do

I would discover

that geologically

it was exactly

like the surface

of the Moon

The wind

on the Isle of Harris

was ferocious, wild, free

and sometimes cold

depending

on which side

of the island

you found yourself

Other than the howling wind

and the cries of sheep

an the occasional sound

of tires on asphalt

it was utterly silent

forgotten, somehow

It was a place

that slipped

in and out

of time

I was never quite sure

which century I was in

I just knew

I was stripped bare

to nothing

but a wispy

kind of essence

The parts

that make up

the whole of me

the broken parts

the shining parts

the dark parts

the good parts

merged together

into someone

I decided

I quite liked

a whole someone

Sheep spoke to me

in magical sheep language

A stray cat wove in and out

of my jean clad legs

My camera poised

for that next shot,

paused

I looked up

into laughing eyes

and remembered

how to smile

While ghosts

from long forgotten pasts

claimed me

as theirs

And in that moment

I became a daughter

of the islands

Anything is possible,

I thought,

on the surface of the Moon

Every breath

is a poem

Every vision

is a work of art

Every smile

is a sunrise

Every moment

is the start

of creation

I could never

quite remember

which century

I was in

I just knew

it was the start

or a continuation

of a forgotten poem

of a song

floating

on the current

A gull shrieked

gliding on the wind

while the waves crashed

and the sheep spoke

and the cat fell in love

and so did I.

jrd ~

13 July 2017

Sussex Coast, England