The ewe lies on a grassy rigg
right on the edge of Loch Duich.
Her body-language tells me that her
death didn't come easy.
Her head and neck are arched back
in a last gasp
that no one heard.
Her bloated body confirms that
days have passed since then.
Yet still her sturdy lamb grazes close by,
and runs to its mother's corpse
as I approach.
The pleasure of my holiday stroll evaporates.
Turning away I leave the orphan
to its vigil.
I will report my sighting.
Help will come...
But the scene will travel with me.
Auld YinReturn to Issue 7