Poetry - Lapwing Central

Published in Northwords Now, Issue 34, Autumn 2017


            Lapwing Central


Between Balevullin and Balinoe, by shallow ponds and fallen stones, lapwings lift into the air, taking me with them on each beatific beat, scooping me clean with rounded wings, giggling me silly with rubber-soled squeaks, taking my breath away with somersaults and spins ’til I’m high, high amongst the torn clouds, amongst falling feathers, latching onto their drifts and kinks ’til I’m down on all fours by the un-standing stone, palms pressed against the tightly cropped turf, fingers pointing to feathers lying askance, each one glanced by lines splitting loam brown from sea-foam white, each one folding my vertebrae bit by bit ’til my eyes are level with the daisies and buttercups and tiny balls of sheep dung, ’til I’m spooning with the stone, pressing back into its lichen-lipped embrace, breathing in the lanolin-and-clover scent of summer at its zenith, and feeling as ready as I ever will for the 18:55 Calmac to Oban.