The two white swans were sensing the wolves.
The swans were returning the wolves to the land. The barren haunted land.
The breeze laboured and longed across the glacial highlands of Scotland.
The wind was howling. Longing for the wolves.
Two white swans in the lengthening dusk of summer against the standing stones.
Two swans against the wind in the grey black tide together.
Two white swans longing for the wolves and carrying the sun on their backs
And the coldest most distant stars beneath their wings as fading lights.
The white swans of Orkney and a haunted whispering land,
Howling beneath the full summer moon.
We are gone from this land forever, the wind is in the bones of the heath.
The highlands still hungering for what they have never known.
