Bealach na Bà

I know a road where we can drive for miles and miles and

No one will bother us. There will only be an old car or two

Here and there, every ten minutes or so. We cannot stop. It is rude

And there is an etiquette here that you would not understand, my little

Mediterranean boy.

Have no fear – I will teach you.

Just follow the road.

It is winding now: the hairpin dizzies my mind, but we keep going. We must

Keep on going. We cannot stop.

Crags are forming; they reach up to touch the sky,

Prodding it full of holes. Clouds rest on their rocky shoulders

And gulls are singing against the gales. Look over

Your shoulder and embrace the sea. Roll down the window and

The wind will slap you across the face.

Ha ha! Smiling boy. You are not used to this calamitous beauty, are you?

Ahead lies the A896 – this road that was once ours

Will soon come to an end. Smokey haze

Is settling, but we cannot stop. Comfort is swallowed by time and

Civilisation is in the wind.