A hut story

A coda to the Hutters' Rally, May 10th, Kirkcaldy.



I talked all day about huts.

In the evening I set off westwards to my own ramshackle hut with sun in my eyes all the way.
The cuckoo welcomed me and the pipistrelle echoed that. I fetched water from the standpipe and the tawny owl sang my lullaby.
I rose early: greylag geese were my alarm. I washed in cold water and put on my old blue gansey, the one with holes. I drank tea and ate bread with the first wild sorrel here; I shared the crusts with field mice. A curlew told me of rain coming, so I said a farewell to those who had welcomed me and set off, further west, to the island.