Dandelions: Dorothy’s angle on pandemic time and space
Another week. Dandelions
have turned into clocks
and beech trees wear new leaves
owning their space
against remarkable blue skies.
She’s walked more miles this week
than she has for years.
Out in the refuge of the hills
filling the precious bellows of her lungs
with a May air
that swithers between warmth and chill.
Oh she drinks those hills.
Looking out over Threipmuir, Black Hill, West Kip
she feels herself expanding
into their rolling slopes, out out
beyond the reservoirs, beyond
Ben Ledi, Ben Lomond, Ben Vorlich
mountain peaks she hadn’t known
you could see -
to rise wordless
into the seamless blue skies
and be blown on the fresh easterlies
not wanting to land.