Winter Light on Rannoch MoorFrom Scottish Poems and Reveries

From "Scottish Poems and Reveries"

The snow makes philosophers of us all,
turning the familiar strange
beneath its blue-white silence.
Rannoch stretches endless,
a page where wind writes
its restless autobiography.

My boots break crystal crust,
each step a meditation
in this monastery of white.
Distance becomes fluid,
mountains floating on mirrors of ice,
while time slips its leash
and runs wild across the moor.

The air tastes of eternity,
sharp as steel on my tongue,
while light plays tricks
with heaven and earth,
until I cannot tell
where snow ends
and sky begins.
Here, in this vast white thought,
I become nothing
and everything at once.