Inspired by Knockan

Acrylics by Rachel Metcalfe

KNOCKAN

Cloud-shrouded and scree'd

shaft of tourquoise Loch na Keal

over my shoulder

Down Ben More and home

to red-roof Knockan and blood;

My lad's tooth is out.

Iona jetty,

blue above, below and through

the thrown pottery

Craignure crossing, light-

house and cumulus, foam-white,

tilting to Oban

Steve Bird 2010

YOU WONDER WHY…

When the human mind is freed

From day to day pursuit of busyness

Schedule, time and plan.

When horizons are not bounded

By brick and stone construct,

Or paving slab and concrete floor.

When the air is filled

By heavy ozone and iodine-rich weed

Not petroleum fumes and humanity’s fear of failure.

Where the rhythm of the day is dictated by single tracks

And traffic jams are bovine – a new definition!

Where the hardest decision is tea or coffee in the flask

And where to drink the same,

The night’s lullaby is the rising tide,

The wind’s gentlest kiss,

Not the roar of traffic -

Of those who toil while others rest.

Where the wisdom of the old ones

Seeps soul deep to cleanse and energise.

Then is the eye, the heart, the mind

Freed to roam, to disengage, to explore

To follow the soaring eagle’s flight

And find new expression;

To see beyond the everyday horizon

And realise the more.

To imagine, relax and rehabilitate

The creativity within each one,

Then to record the same –

Through pen or camera eye,

Paint, crayon and simple being

That in the midst of life

We may recapture something

Of what we were created to be.

Una MacLean 260410

A languid lift of flight feathers,

Silent descent

And a landing that barely ruffles the water.

Only the head feathers lifting in the breeze

Focus attention

On the ghostly presence

Half caught in the corner of the eye.

Still was a marble etched statue,

A modern portrayal

Of an ancient form.

Then, like lightning,

A dip, a flash, a flick,

Lunch is served

Again, again, again,

Until replete.

The water rises,

The sun curves across the sky,

Then, with a single graceful bounce,

And languid, liquid, flowing movement,

The heron cuts through the evening air

Homeward bound.

Una McLean 052016.

Autumnal Knockan.

Wrapped in the finest lacy shawl,

filigree threads in intricate patterning

enfold and wrap, yet float freely

moved by the currents of air -

secure now, yet in anticipation

of what follows, what is yet to come -

time suspended, held betwixt and between

the rise and fall of the tide the only measure -

even the sounds, so familiar, are muffled,

wave against rock, wading bird, small songstress -

the wind plucks the telegraph wire

an eerie, solitary strumming -

a tune calling to hibernation -

to lit fires, hot meals, mugs held in chilled hands -

and all around the filigree, fine threads

connect and pattern, layer by layer,

weaving new tales for the autumnal fireside.

Una McLean 01.11.2017.

A stealth tide:

Blending into the rocks,

Grey and black, silver backed,

Basking in the wintry sun,

Breeze blown, belly filled

By the fish shoals disturbed by the angry weather.

Waiting, wallowing, rolling flipper high.

And the tide rises

A stealthy creeping,

No fuss, no bother, no crashing waves,

The water touches, recedes and nudges again.

They wait - fully aware of no need to move.

The oily brown, blue, been,

Greedily grasps the rocks,

Its seaweed skirts furling and lifting.

Until, effortlessly newly afloat

The diving begins again,

The chase for dinner in underwater acrobatics,

Until filled bellies seek repose once more.

Una McLean 20.04.2018

Quick Eye, Slow Eye:

The quick eye in each one of us

sees the motion, the movement,

the flick of activity.

While the slow eye in us spots the detail, the focus and form,

conjures up the story, the history,

the reality of what is seen perceived.

The quick eye sees

tarmac flying beneath the wheels,

bends and straights ahead,

marks the passing place, other vehicles.

While the slow eye recognises the roe deer

stepping delicately out from greenery

with frozen, startled stare to pause and look

before moving off again, traverse completed.

The quick eye takes in the surroundings,

road, scenery, glowering rock face,

muddy ditch, scattered stone.

The slow eye sees the moult,

the eagles who delight with thermal floating personal flight display,

the sudden silver tresses in the rugged face,

as the elixir of life rushes down,

white, silvern lines, to feed loch, river and tap.

The quick eyes sees lichen covered rocks,

land locked,

sometimes seaweed bound and sea swept.

The slow eye picks out

formed stone of fallen croft or quay,

tumbled carelessly,

and the mind conjures the small boat

ferrying supplies

or a piscean supper for hungry mouths.

The quick eye sees a flick of gold, of brown and brightest red.

The slow eye sees a goldfinch feeding,

a solitary heron, a feisty wren,

oyster catcher and bold breasted robin.

The quick eye sees endless roadway

bending round the towering hills,

stretching far onto the horizon.

The slow eye marks history in the original trail

almost hidden off road,

bridges remaining to mark the crossings

walked by hundreds of thousands of feet and hooves

of drovers and their stock.

The quick eye marks the speed of today, the present.

The slow eye the realities, nuance and inheritance of what once was,

and the hope of what is to come.