Hamish McAngus
Hamish McAngus scratched his beard,
“The winter has not been as bad as I’d feared!”
He pulled on his plaid and picked up his staff
and went out in the swirling snow with a laugh.
The snow whirled up to his kilted knees
and clung to his plaid as it billowed and breezed
but Hamish felt joyful that he was alive
as he strode to the loch for his 6am dive.
The loch was as black as a hoodie craw’s wings
but Hamish ran free as the lark when it sings
as he pulled off his kilt and abandoned the plaid,
forgetting the words his old mother aye said –
“Staye oot o’ that watter, ye’ll get yersel’ droont,
an’ keep yer erse warm wi’ the kilt a’ aroon’t
for the caulness will claim ye wi hideous claws
an’ yer daith will be quick, ye’ll nae ken whit it was!”
But Hamish, as thrawn as a man full of drink,
went breenging straight in and did not stop to think,
in no time at all he turned bluer than woad
and as stiff as the ice that had covered the road.
Off he went, steaming out into the snow
the pace that had carried him starting to grow
like a missile that’s fired from the prow of a boat:
he prayed that he’d stop and continue to float.
Out there on the loch with the dark skies above
our Hamish, becalmed as if smitten by love
remembered his mother’s words, spoken in fear,
“tak’ care o’ yersel’ near that watter my dear!”
And flat on his back he stared up into space
where clouds had departed, revealing the face
of the glittering universe, magnified;
so Hamish believed he had already died.
So, thinking he’d passed our man was at peace
with nothing to lose so his tongue was released,
and speaking the deepest of thoughts from his mind
our Hamish asked questions of every kind.
He asked if the sun was an eternal flame
and whether the stars knew each other by name
he asked how the moon was held up in the sky
and if it would fall to the earth, by and by.
But deeper than these he began to ask why
folk speaking of angels looked up to the sky
when knowing some spirits who lived here on earth
were purer than them since the day of their birth?
And then there was God in His heaven above:
was it really so that a heart full of love
allowed his old mother to suffer so much,
could it be that He was too far out of touch?
As Hamish gazed up in his questioning state
he wished that he wasn’t resigned to his fate,
and sensing the snow had been turning to rain
he felt as if life had returned to his veins.
So Hamish swam back for the warmth of his plaid
remembering all his dear mother aye said,
and hearing her call from the brightening shore
he reached for the hand of her comfort once more.
He’d danced with his mother when she was alive,
her memory fresh as that small boy of five,
whose legs full of running and heart beating fast
had caught up with his runaway angel, at last.
25/2/24