Movement

The darkness compresses the day from both ends. 

The hours of light are fewer.

The white fronted geese of Greenland lift their heads to the sky and yap. 

In a flurry of wings they launch into the air.

This is no brief flight to avoid danger.

This is it. Time to go.

As they ascend their wings beat harder. 

They will reach the same speed

that I am permitted to travel through the suburban streets of Glasgow in my car.

Forming into a skein

the goose at the front has no friend to block her headwind 

no slipstream to help pull her forward.

No goose can take that responsibility continuously 

they move in and out of the lead position.

They fly across the Denmark Strait 

for a brief sojourn on Iceland. 

Then on over the North Atlantic 

before choosing the most beautiful flight path across Scotland.

Geese migrate by remembering landmarks. 

Do they recognise Kisimul Castle as they pass over Castlebay? 

Are they awed by the white sands of Tiree? 

Does Finlaggan Loch on Islay tempt them to stop?

As they pass over Campbelltown harbour do they dodge the gulls? 

Do they quicken their speed over Turnberry?  

As they fly over the Galloway Forrest and skim round The Merrick

do they know they are nearly there?  

With a laughing call to all who want to hear they arrive at Loch Ken.

Movement directed by light and memories. 

Passed on from generation to generation.