In the far north of Scotland, in the two most northernmost counties, Sutherland and Caithness, there is an abundance of natural beauty. When I lived there close to 40 years ago I took it all for granted and as a barrenness that I had to drive through. Oh silly me! Recently a friend from those early years has shared his great love for this landcape and his delight to stand in its midst. 4000 sq. km of rugged beauty where ancient landscapes meet rich history and a vibrant culture. Awarded UNESCO status The Flow Country is a breathtaking vast expanse of blanket bog, sheltered straths, moorland and mountain covering much of these two counties.
I have a real fondness for the poet R.S.Thomas, a Welsh cleric and powerful wordsmith. I share his poem The Moor as one which asks us to stop and walk gently on the earth and walk gently on this precious landscape where we will find the surprise and the presence of the Holy in the midst of the stillness. I wonder what landscape his words take you to, and wonder whatplaces have become as special to you as the Flow Country is for my good friend.
The Moor
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart’s passions — that was praise
Enough; and the mind’s cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread. R.S. Thomas
Prayer:
Holy and mysterious God,
you spoke creation into being, and
today you continue to speak with no
need of words,
only stillness.
Help us we pray, to find
silence,
to allow
stillness, to
savor
the crumbled air like
bread
and so commune with
You, the
Holy One. Amen.
Prayers, Poems, and Christian Ponderings 
Thanks Eddie for this . Maybe you could confirm if my comment posted. Hope so. Love the recollecti
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Eric,Just read your comment. Liz and I returned last night from a week in Cancun with 80degrees and white sand to come home to 6 degree F. and 6 +inches of snow! I hoped you would enjoy this poem. I will be in touch again soon.
Eddie
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This poem spoke to me.
Long ago, determined to drive straight through from Philadelphia to my parents’ home in central Illinois for Christmas, we headed out knowing full well that the forecast was for heavy snow from Ohio to Kansas. It didn’t matter, we were young and it was almost Christmas.
Indiana was closed. Traveling was not advised, but we and a few other travelers continued on our way, staying far apart in our appointed lanes, lights on, wipers on. As luck would have it, when we headed North into Illinois, the snow had slowed a bit. As far as the eye could see, the only view in sight was the vast, flat expanse of winter cornfields, dotted occasionally with muted Christmas lights on the scattered and distant farm houses. I thought it was one of the most serene and beautiful sights I had ever seen. Perhaps because it was close to home, or perhaps because it was Christmas Eve.
I had traveled that straight, flat highway in sheer boredom for my entire life, always anxious to be done with that stretch. But something happened during that trip, and it became my Flow Country.
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