To the mountains of Assynt

Hulking proud above the outbye lands,

far beyond our domesticating walls,

they hunker too, deep in time,

up there in Scotland’s remote North-West,

where land, sea, sky all meet.

Larger now than they will become,

much smaller than they were before.

Hard rock, erosion-softened,

with movement imperceptible

to camera or eye.

Whales half beached but not dead -

breathing instead -

afloat on a sea of gneiss,

shaped by the ebb and flow of ice.

Oblivious to the delight we take in their sight,

and there since well before life got complex,

they stand alone throughout the night;

eternal vigil over Atlantic sea, and our declining West.