Whenever we go north, we pass a small field which
is so beautiful, we always plan to stop one day and
walk into it. We’ve seen it in snow and in sunshine
and it always looks totally lovely. It’s clearly very
old, the stone walls have tiny curling ferns in the
cracks and behind it is a rising slope of hill.
A SCOTTISH FIELD
That ancient little field
Has always been there,
With its grass cropped short,
Its stone walls dusty
In the morning sun.
Each time we come this way,
We say that one day
We will sit in the middle of that field.
Pluck tiny blades of grass
And wind them round our fingers.
But this is a dream
That seems never to come true.
Yet even whilst we’re swooping past
In a cloud of elegiac dust,
Still we hold on to it.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 
There is something magical about a Scottish Field!
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Love the U.K
countryside.
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I find myself dreaming about this field! Or putting its image in my mind when things get a bit out of hand. You sound as if you have your own magical field! Thanks for your comment. Much appreciated.
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This year, the Spring was so lovely, you couldn’t look at it enough. We went to see one of our sons in New York a couple of years ago and standing on a street in November, the feeling of the cold air reminded me very strongly of the north of Scotland. Love your blogs.
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I used to always go in August.
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