Midnight At The Cottage
So many stars. No aurora. We stretch our necks
around the darkness, trying to make sense
of space and our place within it. Below us,
the river Helmsdale’s white noise. Beyond,
a hooting owl ricochets through the woods.
Progressive rumbling. Forestry lorries, coast-bound
along the A897. We follow their lights down the glen
and into the village, briefly illuminating the fairways
of the golf club. Above us on the hill, a deer bellows
amongst the gorse. Somewhere, a dog barks in reply.