Waiting At The Door Poem by jim hogg

I see it all from Ochil heights
and must have told you once or twice
while running down another life
of shiny boots and pounding miles
semantic games and fruit and nut
of that strange pattern breaking spell
that taught: surprises never end
but though there's nothing new in life
that's not the way it looked back then

the sun stayed out all through the night
with broom in bloom and bees in flight
and laws all bustling in my head
and noisy lover at weekends
when passion was a wilder thing
which gives me cause to glance away
embarrassed by the memory
of all that rampant selfishness
those pools of feeling bubble on
some blisters don't know how to heal

we walked alone along a lane
that girl with auburn hair and I
towards the hill, towards the sea
behind the millions gone to dust
as every finger, every hand
was auto-scribbling out a past
we couldn't wait to usher in
as ancient sunshine fueled and lit
vague sprints of rabbits under trees
and sombre sounds of Jackson Browne

behind us towers, flags and months
and threats of Ochil's heights again
or athlete's foot, a gift for life
a javelin flashing in the sun
old rituals and Abba songs
some vain attempts at glory gained
the loss of Faith was pre-ordained
(a single turn across the floor
her boyfriend waiting at the door)
so like the loss of clouds and rain
and scorching of the countryside
in helicoptered photographs
in that long summer, long ago