The Howe of Fife

A poem by George White, who has lived in Falkland and latterly in Auchtermuchty for over twenty years.

The Howe lies driech and grey

sodden to its very bones

a low-land ... once an inland sea

the memories of that time keep surfacing

pooling in the farmer's fields and causing him to curse

The wild grey Geese are here

ever wary as they feed they rise as I approach

wave and wave again ... circling ... calling

their calls awakening something within me

not of this time but older by far and long-hidden

There was a time when this was forest

wild Boar ran here ... the prey of pampered Royals ...

all gone now and the ground long-tamed

it lies field alongside manicured field in uniform flatness

and each with no time given to catch its breath

before another crop is seeded

another cycle imposed

Little life can I see here in the hard time of the year

the narrow path I walk is frozen hard and treacherous

the fields on each side are waiting ...

harbouring life yet suspended ... waiting for the Spring

and as with every year I long for it to come.

George White, 27 January 2018