The Winter Climbing
it is late January and at last the snow.
I lie back dreaming about Glencoe
as fluent, hungry, dressed in red,
you climb up and over me. That passion
claimed the darkest, useless months
for risk and play. You rise
up on me, I rise through you...
The shadowed face of Aonach Dubh
where Mal first took me climbing
and as we clanked exhausted, happy,
downwards through the dark, I asked
'What route was that?' 'Call it
what you want - it's new.'
You reach the top and exit out;
from way above, your cry comes down.
The rope pulls tight. What shall we call
this new thing we're about?
These days we live in taking
care and chances. Why name it?
My heart is my mouth as I shout Climbing...
This Life, This Life
Poem 'Winter Climbing' taken from Andrew Greig's collection This Life, This Life, and used with kind permission of Bloodaxe Books, Tarset, Northumberland