From Loch Venachar to The Trossachs

by Carolin Messier

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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.