New Year’s Day

by Lisa NicDhòmhnaill

Beads on a string
They graze,
Antlered heads down,
A leaden sky.

Suilven rests,
Its twin peaks
Bedded
In silver.

An eagle soars.
The tender, poised feather fingers belie
The mighty wings.

A lonely figure juts
In silhouette
On the jagged ridge
Of Stac Pollaidh.