From Loch Venachar to The Trossachs

by Carolin Messier



Swollen loch,

pregnant with snow melt

and spring rains,

holds the promise of juicy things

the birth of ripe berries

plucked one by one

from brambles whose thorns

snag hand-knit, woolen sleeves

then scratch and scar bare arms

drawing a crimson trail

which leads away from

the plump prize.