Glen Trool


Today we walked round Loch Trool. It was a beautiful autumn day  – a real ‘good to be alive’ day. This is a favourite walk of ours, in all seasons and some time ago – not this autumn, it inspired a poem, one version of which was published in Dawntreader  – a poetry magzine published by Indigo Dreams .

Glen Trool 

Our path cuts a rough scar

on the hillside above the loch.

Gnarled hands of roots, scapulae

of stone, trip the unwary.

Emerald mosses cover, transform

hard rocks into scatter cushions.


Across the loch, rock scabbed hills

rise, form a distant glowing palette.

Russets mix with greens and ochre.

Below us, a watercolour of trees

shivers in the autumn sun on this,

no peaceful scene in the past.

Walking along, we recall the time

when Bruce claimed his victory

of the few against the many, by

rolling boulders down steep slopes,

taking adversaries by surprise.

We look down, hear ghostly echoes

of  men’s battle cries, of maimed horses,

see the graveyard loch of the defeated.