Day 2: The Trossachs hike for us today!
I rose quite early, dressed and headed down
to eat some breakfast (bah, I used to say!)
which proved to be quite nice - in Scottish style.
Then to the coach, where we set off at once
for Callander, a little town en route
where we bought lunch and scarfed it quickly down.
Then to the Trossachs, where we were forewarned
of muddy slopes, midge bites, and maybe rain.
Exhilaration visited my mind
as I climbed through the Scottish highland hills.
But many more were far less charmed than I
for they complained of mud and steeper slopes.
I sallied forth and bore it all in grace
because the view and air made up for it
Exploring in a trench coat and my hat
and shielded by my weather ready shoes
I marched along, recording as I went
the gorgeous vista sprawled before my eyes.
The hike complete, we stood upon the peak
and rested well, for slopes are rather steep!
And I took photos, gazed around, and gladly dreamt
of golden days. Von Trapp in Sound of Music
felt this way when he crossed over, saw the Swiss
and knew at last his heart and mind were free.
The journey down was harder than it was
when we were climbing up. For it had rained
and now the slopes were wet and slippery
and tried to pull us down. But I, at first
skipped cheerily from rock to grass to rock
oblivious to mud and rain of course.
Until a dreadful twist of fate caused me to slip
and in that time my lens went flying out
and fell upon the muddy, sloppy ground.
I mourned, I did, for my now-dirty lens
for I could see some water leaked right in
beyond the reach of any cleaning cloth.
(I later found, once dry and outside clean
the lens (a miracle!) seemed rather whole and sound
and seemed to function as it had before.
It's just as well - the Campkins man had said
I'd have to send it off - and that's not cheap.)
We carried on, and soon we'd reached our start
worn out and weary; some were rather grim.
I loved it, though. As tired as I was,
forgotten lands had spilled their hearts to me,
and I embraced them openly as friends.
The day's not over, though - there's still much more
A Scottish Ceilidh* waited back at home.
The Ceilidh! Why, I never thought that I
would have a pleasant time in such a place.
A Ceilidh is a Scottish dancing bash
where men in kilts play instruments and shout
and we, the dancers, listen to their cues
and try our hand at dancing, Scottish-style!
At first I leaned and took a couple pics,
another song began, and Kwong came up
and roped me in to make a group of six.
So there I was, a whirling maniac
who danced in time to Scottish melody!
And later still, I danced another dance
in lines of men and girls - a complex thing
and so increased the laughter and the fun.
I followed some I knew into the town.
They hit a bar at first, then carried on
while me and Tuna went to find some food.
We found a place, and I had fish and chips
and he had haggis, which he said was dry.
Then we continued, found the dancing club
and found our tiny group. Once there, I looked
about and I was much annoyed. It was
quite dark and loud and filled with many drinks.
So I escaped and set a course for home -
I had my map this time! And then I met
a man named Steven, rather handsome chap
who kindly pointed out where I should go -
he gave directions, best I'd ever seen.
I asked him where he walked, so late at night,
"I'm searching for my heart," he says to me.
I told him I made music; that is where
I claimed to find my heart. And he replied
that he did too. I told him what I study,
and that it was not music. And he said,
"But it is." And I was very glad that
well, Steve and I saw eye to eye on this.
We parted, and I said to him the line
that Desmond said to Jack when leaving him.
And through the streets I walked, alert, aloof
until I found my dorms, where I could rest.
(*KAY-lid)
- originally written July 20
I rose quite early, dressed and headed down
to eat some breakfast (bah, I used to say!)
which proved to be quite nice - in Scottish style.
Then to the coach, where we set off at once
for Callander, a little town en route
where we bought lunch and scarfed it quickly down.
Then to the Trossachs, where we were forewarned
of muddy slopes, midge bites, and maybe rain.
Exhilaration visited my mind
as I climbed through the Scottish highland hills.
But many more were far less charmed than I
for they complained of mud and steeper slopes.
I sallied forth and bore it all in grace
because the view and air made up for it
Exploring in a trench coat and my hat
and shielded by my weather ready shoes
I marched along, recording as I went
the gorgeous vista sprawled before my eyes.
The hike complete, we stood upon the peak
and rested well, for slopes are rather steep!
And I took photos, gazed around, and gladly dreamt
of golden days. Von Trapp in Sound of Music
felt this way when he crossed over, saw the Swiss
and knew at last his heart and mind were free.
Scottish Valley
A boat breaking in the grandeur
A line of PKP'ers through the hills
The Trossachs peak
The way down
The journey down was harder than it was
when we were climbing up. For it had rained
and now the slopes were wet and slippery
and tried to pull us down. But I, at first
skipped cheerily from rock to grass to rock
oblivious to mud and rain of course.
Until a dreadful twist of fate caused me to slip
and in that time my lens went flying out
and fell upon the muddy, sloppy ground.
I mourned, I did, for my now-dirty lens
for I could see some water leaked right in
beyond the reach of any cleaning cloth.
(I later found, once dry and outside clean
the lens (a miracle!) seemed rather whole and sound
and seemed to function as it had before.
It's just as well - the Campkins man had said
I'd have to send it off - and that's not cheap.)
We carried on, and soon we'd reached our start
worn out and weary; some were rather grim.
I loved it, though. As tired as I was,
forgotten lands had spilled their hearts to me,
and I embraced them openly as friends.
The day's not over, though - there's still much more
A Scottish Ceilidh* waited back at home.
The Ceilidh! Why, I never thought that I
would have a pleasant time in such a place.
A Ceilidh is a Scottish dancing bash
where men in kilts play instruments and shout
and we, the dancers, listen to their cues
and try our hand at dancing, Scottish-style!
At first I leaned and took a couple pics,
another song began, and Kwong came up
and roped me in to make a group of six.
So there I was, a whirling maniac
who danced in time to Scottish melody!
And later still, I danced another dance
in lines of men and girls - a complex thing
and so increased the laughter and the fun.
Wine at the Ceilidh
The Ceilidh
The band
I followed some I knew into the town.
They hit a bar at first, then carried on
while me and Tuna went to find some food.
We found a place, and I had fish and chips
and he had haggis, which he said was dry.
Then we continued, found the dancing club
and found our tiny group. Once there, I looked
about and I was much annoyed. It was
quite dark and loud and filled with many drinks.
So I escaped and set a course for home -
I had my map this time! And then I met
a man named Steven, rather handsome chap
who kindly pointed out where I should go -
he gave directions, best I'd ever seen.
I asked him where he walked, so late at night,
"I'm searching for my heart," he says to me.
I told him I made music; that is where
I claimed to find my heart. And he replied
that he did too. I told him what I study,
and that it was not music. And he said,
"But it is." And I was very glad that
well, Steve and I saw eye to eye on this.
We parted, and I said to him the line
that Desmond said to Jack when leaving him.
And through the streets I walked, alert, aloof
until I found my dorms, where I could rest.
(*KAY-lid)
- originally written July 20
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