Smailholm Dreams...

Rain mists soak the landscapes surrounding the tower house. I watch swallows dance through the fine droplets, searching nesting sites, chittering their hellos to me as I wait for the next visitor... I have walked, through the silent bovine faces, each day up the craigs; the faeryknowe sleeps beneath my gaze, beckoning the Rhymers' children to its shining lands beneath.  My realm is of stone and rock, sulphur-bright broom and snapping Saltire; alone for a time, until crunching pebbles announce interested minds seeking their own experience of this solid remnant of the Borders' pyking past...

Stark it stands, upright.

Scott's warden, atop its crag

Always watching...

"Everywhere peace, everywhere serenity..."

Soon I begin a new chapter, in quietude of soaring arch, knave and transept. My heritage work takes me new, old places... from now to then. Twisted faces look down in blessing and the ironclad heart of an ancient King of Alba sleeps in immortality beneath my feet.

"... and a marvellous freedom from the tumult of the world."

The silence of stone,

Softly yields the sacred tones.

Voices from the past.