The day has turned bright green and all the bushing plants are soused in mist and insistent drizzle. The loch was glass-like with tiny ripples and the low cloud hung there like gauze. The shore pebble-smooth we stood and took-in the length of the water disappearing into ranks of hills and pale sky. Such water falling, such water there, vast deep loch of secrets. I watch the dripping skies, the dripping leaves. A soft day in the high lands, soft day of ease.next poem