We have circled for weeks
riding the warm updrafts
of lecture and workshop,
dizzy now from our view
of a world too wide.

In concentric cycles of classroom,
shop, pub, and beach,
in circles of study around the kitchen table,
from altar to altar,
our paths are worn weary.

An afternoon free, we five
packed in a car, like comets
shoot from this orbit of the Glen,
gravitate to a precipice,
a weight to press our details into diamonds.

How it shines down beneath!
Down, down we go,
my dear friends and I,
down through the layers of our lives
to the Silver Strand.

(Dunstan Skinner)