dominique cameron RSW

 

Warm sun on our faces

this February morning.

Snowdrops

and thick ice on the pond.

Start work on the dry stane dyke

and the space where we will make a seat for Billy and Davey.

We were the only twa’ that smoked.

now its jist me.

New faces, old faces.

Foundation stones,

trying to make them fit.

We walked the ridge of the Sidlaws with a bottle of Guinness in hand.

Happy times.

Blue

sky.

A wren.

Mountains in the far north.

A picnic tea on the tarpaulin,

eating jammie dodgers in Daveys honour.

Warm sun on our faces.

 

Davey.

Broon plastic sandals from Woolies.

They would break an’ your toes would stick oot.

Brilliant for sliding,

great for the burnie.

 

Warnings of gales……and cross party support…..as long as we’re together…..you give me…..the quantitative easing…… of Bach’s cello suite no.1 in G major…….setback for the Tangerines…….who have vowed to devolve powers……back to the 70’s and the tunes keep coming. Its tartan turn-ups, mullets and Disco Duck by Ruby Flipper. Aye, I hud nae idea either. Anyways its Ra Ra Rasputin La Belle Epoque here on your local Longhaugh music station, here with the grooves. On line two we huv Stuart fae Fintry. Morning Stuart and what’s your Hi ho silver lining ? Uh, Hiya Bob, jist wanted to tell yous I found a tenner roond the back o’ Iceland the morn. Happy days, eh Bob ? Nae bad Stuart, whit you gonna dae wi’ it ? Aww, easy man, stick it on a pony. Shang a Lang, 12.40, Kempton. Stuart thats sweet. An’ fae one sweet tae another…..keep warm oot there litter pickers…. Aah, aah you better beware, you better take care…….

 

                      

 

 

The burn was different last week. The night before had brought strong winds and the morning was little better. The water was high and the path strewn with branches. The wind hurried me along. I met a man with a wheelbarrrow. It was full of things he had collected, an archive of the paths we both trod. In some ways his collection and mine are similar, in that I collect words and pictures through walking, he, objects. I don’t know what he did with his things, he said he was very busy somewhere up the road. My foraging brings me back here to tell stories.

Wind.

Twa’ shilpit eyes in a snorkel parka,

hurl January at me full in the face.

Tells me he’s off to a job,

points with a tilt of his fur lined hood

to a place away,

up there,

beyond where we are,

known to him and not me.

Well you better get along I said,

you’re forecast.

Aye, he winks,

inhaling on his no.6

 

                                                

 

David and Stuart.

 

 

The scent of stars on the prairie wind no longer an option –

toy horse found on the pavement by the no.73 bus.

 

A man on a space hopper was stopped by police on a dual carriageway in Dundee at Hogmanay.

Nee naw nee naw.

Wet tea bags thrown out of the window hoping to land on someones head.

Ha ha.

Not to mention…

overflowing beer in the toilet,

Eric Sykesian story about buying a plank,

losing the nozzle on the WD40

and

aliens on the Dighty.

A very  happy new year to everyone at Dighty and for all those stories yet to come…….

 

Bob tells me of

kingfishers in the burn                      

and

kites in the glen.

He looks at his hands and says golf.

The bird man.

 

I am starting a series of portraits, of hands. The way our hands tell our stories, of us, of our histories. It is another way of storytelling, and of expressing who we are. I am asking people to show me how they think their hands best say something about them.

Huge thanks to Lynne and Barbara for letting me draw them despite their reservations !

 

 

 

A view from the composition ‘Lull’  about the long hot days of summer.

Now it is winter.

I came back to watch the rise of the hill, the curve of the track.