Mercy, that I think I understand.

It’s a mercy that these forests get replanted,

that most of the land belongs to sheep,

that the McDonald’s don’t live beneath Golden Arches.

It’s a mercy that the lochs are still lochs.

 

It’s like. I mean, like when I saw that mountain

I was like. You know?

 

Ben Nebhais towers, with a naked cold shoulder to the world.

The landscape is like a venomous snake that no one wants to get too near.

But it’s not a snake. It’s like walking through a  mist into a fantasy novel.

 

Actually, it’s more like a land of liquid sunshine, where the sun keeps long summer hours,

but the mists work around the clock. When I think about what I like about this world,

I thought of an old, old mountain, covered in green with a narrow trail of white

running down the side. The trail was like the vein of the earth, pumping lifeblood.

 

Doing you justice would be removing all the likes. All that would be left would be silence.

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