Tag Archives: river

Granddad shirt

Raspberry fool – the colour – and picked up in some Edinburgh hippy clothing store – collarless granddad shirt. It suits me so well, and in my teenage mirror vanity, I’m satisfied.

Lenora and Pete are visiting, and then, Lenora just on her own, as Pete’s back at Uni. The sun’s hot outside, the green world baking, and scents of golden river water, reeds, and newly-shorn lanolin sheep.

Like the sheep, I’m sweating – but in my case, with awakened desire.

Somehow – a word, a hand touched, she moves to me. It’s way beyond my own know-how or self-esteem, and yet in these hot days, it’s soon done.

We camp up North, north of Applecross – a shambolic bus journey of poorly packed gear – arriving in rain followed by a midge-storm.

In the morning, the confined tent smells of blood and sex, warming in sunrise light. Occasional cars dodge sheep on the road beyond the dyke.

Hand in hand, boot after boot, we climb the rocky, rugged mountain above, pausing by pools.

Curlew

Dad wakes me with a whisper and a touch. The house is still dark and silent. I feel for my clothes on the floor, and pull them twistedly on. Down the stairs without avoiding the habitual creaks of talkative ash steps.

“Are you ready?” he whispers.

I’m lacing shoes, but nod. His keys rattle and the door thuds open.

The roads from Peebles to Moffat are laced with rivers wraithed with mist in the half-light. The waking world sings silently. As the car slowly warms, I’m in a dream, in wonder. I hardly knew this half of the day exists.

It’s a long and winding road.

We pull off onto a track that extends, unwaveringly straight, out onto the moors. Dad slows the pace, easing over ruts and potholes. At the white caravan, his student’s girlfriend offers hot coffee and divine tablet.