The Folks Who Live on the Hill

Some years ago, when we came to this place,
You should have seen the look on my face.
As we drove through the countryside to see,
Where our new adventure would be.
I’d never been to that country before,
Knew it existed in old folklore.
Roads twisted and turned as we travelled,
As our lengthy journey unravelled.

We asked around for directions, we tried
As we may to find it, but the house it would hide.
Lost to the world, our heaven sent,
Derelict, forgotten to it’s detriment.
Then we turned the corner and climbed the hill,
I couldn’t disguise my wonder and thrill.
On arriving I cried, “What have we done?”
Soon realised that it had just begun.
A sight opened up before my eyes,
A place there before us started to rise.
We reached the top and stared in awe,
We had our work cut out here for sure!
Wondering where we’ll start or begin,
Stopping a while to take it all in.
There was rubbish and debris and glass on the floor.
Ivy growing around all over the door.
Trees and grass and nature surround,
Imagination, hope and challenge abound.
We walked around with a camera to click
The state it was in just made me sick.
The door kicked in and hopes were dashed,
Battered and bruised, it had been trashed.
Who could do this to somebody’s house?
The person who did this, what a louse.
But that was how we’d got our chance,
Found this and now I wanted to dance.

You see I thought a new route I’d take
And a thorough search I’d begin to make
Was looking around for a bit of romance.
It seems that Scotland is the new France.
You see that is where we’d planned to go
But something happened then, you know.
I found this place which began to start,
To inspire the mind and pull at the heart
I needed an “off switch” from my work
Which into my down time would often lurk.

Wasn’t sure whether he’d go for it,
But trust me he did and now here we sit.
But we can celebrate the day,
We went about it in our own way.
We found out it was meant to be,
That we would get our house by the sea.
It hasn’t been all plain sailing
Been up here when our health is failing
But breathe in the air and drink in the view
And you’ll be filled with hope anew.

We have such plans for our little place,
But taking it slow at our own pace.
The damaged caused by tree crashes,
Like a phoenix she’ll rise from the ashes.
A good decision that they made on the spur.
The right one to make, they must concur.
They made on that day back when
A new chapter of life, they are planning for them.

So their decision yet to be
A cosy cottage for two or three.
Or as big as a barn, for five or more
Right in the middle a huge front door.
But surrounded by fir and forest,
This is the place they love the best.
Building a fire with stick and log,
Blessed with the nonsense of a beautiful dog.
Way back then didn’t hope to envisage
That we’d feel at home here in this village
Upon people here, we’d come to depend
A few will arrive, with a hand to lend.

So is it a grand plan that they’ve hatched?
Will the roof be slate or thatched.
Up here for some time they’ll stand,
As they survey their piece of land.
Which no-one will ever take away,
It’s theirs to keep and here they’ll stay.
Up there it is their decision
Release from the usual working prison.

Don’t get me wrong, the work here is hard
Since this has for a garden, a bit more than a yard.
Don’t know how long it will take us to mend,
But a long time to finish, it’s not yet the end
Till we reach the top of this winding road
Resting a while from this heavy load.
One day we’ll have a home with such style
Which will have made it all worthwhile.
But till then, we’re remaining still
Just the folks who live on the hill.

Almost a Biker

I once had a motorbike,
Painted in the colours I like.
Bright paintwork in yellow and black,
Better for road than for track.
A custom bike with plenty of chrome,
Visions I had of going to roam.
Out on the open road once more,
A beautiful thing with a throaty roar!
I got all the kit and dressed in the leather,
Protected from every kind of weather.
Wearing all of the outfit he loves,
Jacket, Boots, Helmet and Gloves.
Blood racing through me thudding my chest,
Excitement builds I’ll be joining the rest.
On Saturday mornings, coffee en-route
Someone you know, give them a toot.
Bike training then was even a pleasure,
Into the country, moments to treasure.
Taking in the air as you go by,
Feeling as though being able to fly.
Out on the road from my worries I’d hide,
Forget them all as you begin to ride
For a time so easy to be,
Someone else who’s so carefree.
Once I’d got my ticket you know,
I sat on the bike ready to go.
I started up and the throttle jammed,
Into a wall on the bike I slammed.
I’d hurt myself and damaged by back.
And from the experience I would lack.
Suddenly my dreams as a biker no more,
As I was pinned upon the floor.
Couldn’t get from under the bike you see,
Was trapped just too darn heavy for me.
Rescued by a helpful friend,
For the bike and I, the end.
6 months of pain and physio,
Off to the doctor I had to go.
The bike was stored, then fixed and sent,
For someone new it was now meant.
My injuries healed, they did not last,
But having a bike’s all in my past.