Pluscarden

Mediaeval place, the blonde stone
golden in the sun;  modern
warfare overhead;  woodpecker
in the woods;  male pheasants
screeching and flapping.

At None:  Gregorian chanting -
the monks filed-in, some of the
cream Augustinian habits needed
washing.  Some wore sandals,
some hiking boots - the sun
was bright through the window.

Quiet day, small gathering,
tea, coffee, lunch, prayer,
Mass.  A new start
into the bright Spring day,
blossom budding on trees.

Not such a long trip this time,
no bike, no leathers.  I had
passengers and chat.  An
unusual Tuesday in April.
There were many black-gabled
crosses, quiet in rows
amid the green.

Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem