Dai and Jenny Vaughan moved to Glasgow in1986, from the Isle of Lewis. Some of their work since, can be seen on www.art-works.co.uk and www.jennyvaughan.co.uk

PICNIC 
 
We tuck into our picnic
As the honey bees harvest
The purple heather flowers
Around us
While to the left
The island of Ailsa Craig 
Floats on the horizon
Hovering just above the sea
So silent
So totally still

Ahead
In the distance
Holy Island and the Isle of Arran
With Kintyre beyond
And to the south
Ireland and the Antrim Hills

To the right
A wide sweep of coast
Towards the mouth of the Clyde
Then the Isle of Bute
And Loch Fyne
All fade away
Into a light blue haze

One tiny white sail out there
Moving steadily
From left to right

A single engined plane
Flies overhead
With a sound between
A purr and a hum

A red winged butterfly
Flutters past

The sun reflecting on the sea
Moving like a million
Drops of mercury

The blue sky
Arches above us

Suddenly
With a phut phut sound
The Waverly paddle steamer
Appears in view
With it’s twin
Black white and red funnels
And it’s cargo of happy
Sun blinking punters
Leaving behind
The long line of it’s wake
As it sails into the sunshine

Ailsa Craig
Still floats on the horizon
An upturned
Unfinished
Japanese bowl
Magically in the hold
Of some conjurer of light
While one single white line of clouds
Seems balanced
Like a see saw
on the summit

Seagulls glide by above us
Ferns sprout up
Waving green and silver in the breeze

From up here
You can only faintly hear
The sound of the waves
Tumbling onto the shore

And the shouts of the boys
Far below
As they jump from the rocks
Into the water
Are lost
In the wind from the south

Time to go home
We pack up
And walk back along the cliff path
Breathing in that smell
That only cliff paths have
A mixture of sand dust and salt
And still summer heat
And the aromas that come
From where bracken and brambles
Long grass and windswept bushes
Tangle down into the earth

We turn a corner
And leave the long views
Of sea and sky
And enter the wood
Where
On either side of the path
Tall trunks tower up above us
Cathedral pillars
To a ceiling of gold and green
And silver light.

Another wonderful day
At Culzean
Is over.