New Roots

The New Roots - a poem by Alistair MacPherson I came late to the party, my invitation was formed. They said…Join Mister Muir on his ramble, it’s braw! Discover the Park, conserve and explore, I said…Aye why not I’m keen to see more! We picked our way through Menteith’s high seas, To Inchmaholme and the twisted trees. The ancient history of the priory felt, Kings and queens and stories telt. A picnic was shared, art and nature paired, The star of the show, a pine cone parade. We were mobilised in Callander To consider movement, How to discover the Trossachs, The buggy improves this. A path back in time, on an old railway line, To see the ruin of romans who once wined and dined. Lastly the trees, they sway and they move In Gaelic you’ll know them simply as ‘Craobh’ (kroov) Balmaha followed on a driech wee day, We’re telling visitors about a red squirrels drey! Fixing the signs, under beautiful pines The path it weaves and dips and winds. Down at the shore we picked up the litter, Prevent it from ending inside some wee critter. So where from here? Simply an award to cheer? Or did we learn? Ole JM ensures the countryside’s the concern. And once we depart from our day and take leave, The new roots are growing, forming shoots and trees. Wonder is found in country and town. To be shared with good friends and strangers abound.