Carry keepsakes from this place,

     keep them warm in the boll of your memory –

        the leaf-pattern of your walk

           a puff of thistledown

                the glint of rowan

                     a fleck of silver birch

                          the touch of loch-polished stone

                                  the scent of rain

                                         a seedpod like a firefly of light


                                                        hold them close,

touch them often.

Poetry copyright © Frances Ainslie 2021