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.