The Bothy

by Romany Garnett

Near the eddies of the full-flowing burn,
past the sodden peat hags and black rock,
beyond the hillock and over the low dyke,
in the dismal half-light the stone bothy stood.

The flames flickered licking the air,
softly triumphant in the gloom,
he stood dripping on the stone floor,
she looked away avoiding his stare.

They ate in silence,
crumbs tumbling unheeded,
beside his boots,
moments stilled into breath.

The rain outside lashed unrepentant,
his craggy hands fumbled with a match,
her eyes followed his movements,
as the smoke curled behind his ear.