Descending Schiehallion

by Grahaeme Barrasford Young

Where peace begins,

down from the slice and din
of frozen gale, stumbling
never-to-be trusted drift,
as tumbled ptarmigan flirt with us,
a dance troupe off their beat,
that last mile of slither,

all movement stops.

Amber-shackled by late sun
a still hawk haunts dusk.