On this Day 783 of the Daily Poems it is 25 January. Tonight is Burns Night, so it would be appropriate to have a Scottish-leaning poem. Step forward your Editor with a reminiscence of the Braid Hills outside Edinburgh, slightly tinged with regret for the passing of the years …
Braid Hills
In the black and white photo
two children run up
along the gully. You run
breasting the river of air,
pressing forward into the light.
The inebriate breeze
is puffing your cheeks
as you laugh
in the fluttering gale
and you run.
Volcanic ribs of black rock rear up
where turf laps against basalt
and you two run gleeful,
duffle coats thrown open,
riding the wind.
A school scarf streams away
across a shoulder
exuberantly pointing
its woolly finger
to the Firth of Forth beyond.
I sometimes thought about God
in those young days
but I never thought about Time.
Time says fold away the photos,
close the book.
Tuck in the corners of memory.
Get on with life.
Get on.
Get on with it.
It’s time.
Peter Ualrig Kennedy