Heather Smoke at Dusk

Number 5

The pipe bowl glows like a fallen star,
its smoke weaving stories into gloaming.
Sweet peat reek mingles with heather bloom,
while the stream speaks in tongues
I’ve spent a lifetime learning.

Each draw brings memories:
camps pitched in golden light,
friends now gone to shadow,
summits won and lost,
all rising in blue coils
against darkening sky.