The Hills Of Home
The hills of home, that’s what I want to see on the wall.
The view from my window, across the hills,
With a light mist over them.
I miss that view.
The view across outside, far distant views
Of the village and the loch.
The way the hills ripple on the skyline.
What about this caravan?
It looks like the bones of it, and the house!
And this shieling? There’s not much left of it…
This machair might be Bragar, plenty of machair in Bragar.
That’s a rainbow, all right!
He is a lovely dog.
He looks like he is enjoying his walk.
Oh the dog, the dog, …he is lovely.
If you cut the peats in autumn, you can still get away with it,
If you cut them thinner. You just need to cut them so they dry quickly.
Oh, that smell of peat smoke, nothing like it.
This one, this is my favourite.
Who built this house?
Who lived in it?
Maybe that is a tunnel underground?
Or for the sheep…that’s it.
That view from the windows…
What a lovely place to have a home. Someone built this and loved it.
I wonder who they were?
My father would know.
The evening light is more golden, don’t you think?
And the morning more hopeful. Brighter.
Will the dark make me feel dark?
Oh that’s a beaut! Beautiful! North Uist, Aye!
That’s a beaut as well!
Is this the Clisham? I climbed the Clisham, oh aye, many years ago.
No, it’s not changed.
He’s not bad with the camera is he, Alex Boyd?
Collage poem from Paula Brown
from the words of people in Western Isles Hospital & Care Centres participating in the Life Changes Trust/DEEP Hills of Home Project with Alex Boyd