If you stand silent  

             cradled by stone monuments, 

                          that speak our past, and our future,


and if the loch light leads you  

            low beneath the bridge

                         to linger on that space of pine and rock


and sense the wonder of what lies beyond,

             and if you cast your eyes upwards

                          and ask - why the sky laps   


in shoals of shimmering grey

              and why the loch spills cloudless blue,

                          and if you follow that line


and sleepwalk into the space

            where windblown dreams lie

                           What if?

Poetry copyright © Frances Ainslie 2021