This month we’re asking you to submit your images of #therealscotland in our photography competition (for your chance to win a self-catering short break in the East Neuk of Fife), and it has made us think about what #therealscotland means to us. This poem is one interpretation – we look forward to seeing your images and what it means to you.
Snapshots of The Real Scotland
Peaks of ragged mountain
pierce through trailing mist,
torn clouds catching in the crevices.
Cottage ruins and discarded shadows
lying in folds of hills,
where tales of old are piled under stone
but you hear the whispers still.
Across the purple patchwork land
winding walls in criss-crossing lines.
Weathered rock worn through the heather
like the knuckled hands of Time.
Cobbled streets and country lanes,
lit by sheets of light.
Mountains huddled in protective shield;
the guardsmen of the night.
Bays nested in land’s outstretched arm,
the sky anchored to the sea.
The charm of pretty fishing village,
with its views rolled out for me.
Raw beauty of the glens and lochs,
echo with calls to haste ye back.
The scenes that swallow me completely
are off the beaten track.
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