I stood on an Erraid hill,

attuned to ancient times;

sensing the continuum

of island life from the first

sheep herders. For a city

dweller it was a thrill when

the signal “move forward”

came from the valley below.

Hurrying, scrambling;

feeling the sun and wind

upon my face; tripping

on the clumps of grass and

rocks; squelching in the bogs;

brambles catching my clothes;

weaving round wild flowers

adrenalin pumping,

I found a stray sheep and

laughing I coaxed it from

meditating on a

rock, and herded it

towards the blue, green sea;

north of the tiny island.