Dorcha, brooding osprey at Loch Archaig

I wrote this in praise of Dorcha, at Loch Archaig, in the second week of brooding her three eggs with Louis.


Leaden nimbus-floccus scud and tumble o’er the bald hills.

Ill-mannered blusters of breezes ruffle her unkemp nape.

Still and still she stays: stoical patience untried by such insolence.

Nor is she shackled to Man’s incomprehensible tolling of time:

Minutes, and hours, and days of it pass her unheeded, untallied:

Whilst we, in helpless awe, watch, and watch, and wait…