The Mountain Seen First Uncovered


Joined January 2008

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Glen Coe, Highlands, Scotland.

Playing Strange Music in the Mountains of Pictland
Play your heavy blasting rock through the mountains, a kettle drum of silences. Sitting with the eagle and the cutting across the knife edge is like watching all others scampering away in fright against the snow in May.

Here you must come to see the crags disappear in solo atmospheric perspectives. This is the place to see the silhouettes of life forever sky-lining and bouncing away with white tail showing.

To instantly watch the piano cataracts and split bark string plucked heather that we lie in. Stalking the bone lifting purple moor with its endless ghosts and bog bodies. Wonder aloud at the murders, new and the sacrifice old. Use a word like Ptarmigan as whirring toys hit you on the edge of hearing. Chuck, chuck the percussive, scree, scree, taken on the wind section and breathing heady heavy the repeated theme. The sombre height gives its grey bass pound once more.

Maybe….. I’ll wait here for you.

Watch the spring hail hit, finding its counterpoint in the straight lines that angle away from the rock and bounce into your face.

The clouds that shift and settle emasculating all the peaks before gathering in the most secret of female frightened gullies.

Blast around an eagle eyrie angle, a rough natural inaccessable corner and slide down in wet wilting mossy green. Reach that point before rest, then reach another and another, forever. The light contains itself in patches that cross the slopes in low sheets covering a bed of grouse gorse and a pillow in this bed of low cloud. The strings across a bow. The light turning of a page.

Ropes left cats cradle incongruous to achieve the impossible by any other means, brightest blue and striped in the single beam that follows. Use them.

Here I will wait for you always.

A final movement, a nocturne summit as the light fades before it quite hits the ground and flows down the scree below. More rope work and nothing. Go up to go down. A gloaming that roams amongst the peaks and flickers from water falling boiling down into a valley of promises, single beds and more alone meals.

© 2009 Ken Simm.

Artwork Comments

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