Eorisdale Poem by Stuart A. Paterson

(Isle of Vatersay)

Here is a house where no-one lives
by a beach where the wide-water highway is
under hills layered away in typical mist.

Here, we could put down our packs & remain
while the coast idles closer & tide & rain
pull us under & out to ourselves again.

Shifting pink carpets of machair & sand
white & fine will ripple & part unplanned
beneath feet beating brief new paths to the strand.

On the beach, only cattle, beyond, only blue
spooled away to infinity, stitched to the view
by a sky under which I will lie with you

when the roof is the evening, the walls our bright days,
the windows the eyes of our world & ablaze
with the hue of bright moon over Vatersay.