The Day That I Went Blind
The day that I went blind, the Ochills blurred magnificently
before me, with tears running down my cheeks.
I remember the road signs on the M90 as they doubled,
and I had to ask for the unlicenced passenger's help
in reading them. I wasn't looking for a change,
I was looking for things to stay as they had always been.
The meniscus of memory caught ahold of these moments,
entwining those beautiful hills with a brimming panic.
Forever, the battle for Stirling Bridge drove forth.
Taste of Airwaves, smell of capture, the feel of the open window;
sodden wind rushed across my cheeks, mingled with the water
from my eyes. Blurred in memory. Magnificent.