The dominie ...

Just before Bowden, we walked across a silky meadow - 

I saw where our footsteps had pressed down the bright grass - 

Bees hummed above buttercups and the white clover flowers - 

Turning round, I could see the Eildon Hills  - 

We lingered for a while in the lonely village - 

It was late morning - we saw no one - 

Attached to a dour wall was a memorial for the dominie - 

I pictured the children at their desks, the dominie in his black garb, standing next to a globe - 

Perhaps, from time to time, he would look out the schoolroom windows, his pale skin made golden by the sun - 

Thursday July 2 2015

Bowden

The Scottish Borders