Sunday, 20 November 2011

The Sunday Post

Cockburnspath, Scottish Borders

LONDON TO EDINBURGH.

I'm waiting for the moment
when the train crosses the border
and home creeps closer
at seventy miles an hour.

I dismissed the last four days
and their friendly strangers
into the past
that grows bigger every minute.

The train sounds urgent as I am,
it says home and home and home.
I light a cigarette
and sit smiling in the corner.

Scotland, I rush towards you
into my future that,
every minute,
grows smaller and smaller.

 Norman MacCaig.
January 1989.

3 comments:

Nicky said...

Aw, I like that one. There's something special about crossing the border into Scotland. Despite being English, I think I have an inner Scot. Spent a fair bit of my adult life living there when I was still in the UK, and whenever I either crossed the border into Scotland by train or in the car, I too would always feel like I was going home.

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

I always knew I was back in Scotland when we passed that monstrosity of a Mental hopsital at Carstairs. Made me feel home again.

Alistair said...

Aw Nicky - everyone has an inner Scot. The unlucky ones kust don't know it. Glad it made you feel that way.

TSB Nothin better than feeling your nearing home, wherever it may be.

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