My favourite place (Memorial Gardens, Fochabers) and a source of many of my poems. I would sit for hours just looking down The Spey. My heart will always be in Fochabers!
I was sitting at the Memorial Gardens looking at the river (I called the river My Spey), on a bitterly cold afternoon in December 2016. Icy wind blowing right in my face. Little did I know that six months later I would be lying in Intensive Care. I was inspired to write the peom ‘The Wind.’ There’s a lyric in a John Denver song that says ‘… away from my mountains …’ Well, I’m away from 'My Spey!'
Ripples of icy cold-water swirls down the Spey,
In an act of abeyance to the howling December wind,
Bowing respectfully to its master's superiority,
Its preponderance ascendancy and pre-eminence.
Bone chillingly cold but strangely invigorating,
The glacial rawness of the wind in your face,
Eyes smarting and nose constantly running,
Blasts of the Northerly on your cheeks,
Arctic piercing chill penetrating through the layers,
Cocooned in duck-down or synthetic compounds.
The cold icy wind blows down the Spey,
Little sign of life in the water or on the banks,
You look down the flowing watery wintery scene,
Distant landscape lies barrow and bleak and cold,
The Shortest Day herald’s balmy summery warmness.
Majestic sounds of the water flowing past,
Streaming over rocks in a fluidity of forcefulness,
Salmon leaping on their migratory journey,
Canoes weave their way to their destination.
I sit in reflective solitude,
My beloved Spey soothes and washes and cleanses,
Picturesque vistas and flowing, restores neural calmness.
The waters inspire as well as rejuvenate,
Neural synaptic connections intertwine galvanised thought processes.
My beloved Spey swirls and surges on its journey
Unaware of its comforting tranquillity.
Crimson reds and oranges and rustic browns and lemony yellow
Interspersed in a lime canopy
A wall of multi-coloured leaves
A waterfall of hued descending leaves
Guardians of remembrance stones of loved ones departed
Overlooking the Spey Reassurance of the flowing waters
White horses cascading to form swirls
Water glints in autumn sun
Falling from the sky like leaves falling from trees
Blanketed soil in readiness for next spring’s birth