February…

By Roddy Scott She rose up and bit us hard, after Winter’s ices, cracked and bitter shards had closed up pools and puddles over sodden rain-drunk ground, our reflections lost, ‘til melting sun reveals a lonely face in so many collections of a wet embrace. She washed heavy soaking rain straight to brolly-bobbing hands,... Read More

The Golden Fleece of Arran

By Roddy Scott Aince lang ago, when jist a gleam in ma maw’s een, I was telt the tale o’ Jock the Shepherd an’ his Golden Fleece. In the autumn, he wuid drap a sheep’s fleece intae a burn- a certain burn- oan the Isle o’ Arran, knowing that when the spring cam an’... Read More