As if the gates to heaven have been opened, Plockton Bay at sunrise, Wester Ross, Scotland.
Poem.
The gossamer sunlit trails of a calm bay at sunrise.
The moored yachts, motionless, seemingly frozen on these bejewelled, mirrored waters.
The rising sun gleams in pearlescent brilliance.
The silhouetted domed hills of Loch Carron are a
grey and indigo backcloth to this
quicksilver and golden sea.
This is Plockton-
at any time- superb,
at dawn on a summer’s morning,
we have entered the golden gates of heaven!
As if the gates to heaven have been opened, Plockton Bay at sunrise, Wester Ross, Scotland.
Poem.
The gossamer sunlit trails of a calm bay at sunrise.
The moored yachts, motionless, seemingly frozen on these bejewelled, mirrored waters.
The rising sun gleams in pearlescent brilliance.
The silhouetted domed hills of Loch Carron are a
grey and indigo backcloth to this
quicksilver and golden sea.
This is Plockton-
at any time- superb,
at dawn on a summer’s morning,
we have entered the golden gates of heaven!