It was an autumn day ringed with rainbows
With a brilliant light panning across the water
Polishing everything it touched into beautiful Technicolor

For a while the rain swept in
Hammering the surface of the loch to a million tiny ripples
Like frosted glass
Then just as soon, the still sea water became a mirror again
Holding the hills like Turner,
Or Rembrandt.

There is a purity to the air
Sparkling like the fine optics
Of the pair of new binoculars I borrowed once as a boy

I drive the coastline, heading for the ferry
And slow down as a family of swans cross the road
Through the gate of the boatyard
Mum and Dad dazzle in the sun
Whilst their dowdy offspring
Waddle in line astern

The absurd beauty of the day turns me all Beatrix Potter
And I wonder at the nature of their errand.
A complaint about a dirty mooring perhaps?
Or a measuring for a new set
Of webbed feet?

Shaking away the sort of smile
That lingers on the soul
I watch the last signet safely over the pavement
And scuttle back towards a more objective
Cynicism

It’s better for the image you know.

Port Bannatyne, Isle of Bute.