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.