Scotland is a small country, and yet it is the smallness of Scotland that gives it the character that claims the hearts of so many. This poem is about smallness, and the importance of the local. It is about Scotland, but it could be about anywhere local—anywhere that is important to people because it is their place.

dear one

Dear one, how many years is it—I forget—

Since that luminous evening when you joined us

In the celebration of whatever it was that we were

celebrating—I forget—

It is a mark of a successful celebration

That one should have little recollection of the cause;

As long as happiness itself remains a memory.

Our tiny planet, viewed from afar, is a place of swirling

clouds

And dimmish blue; Scotland, though lodged large in all

our hearts,

Is invisible at that distance, not much perhaps,

But to us it is our all, our place, the opposite of nowhere;

Nowhere can be seen by looking up

And realising, with shock, that we really are very small;

You would say, yes, we are, but never overcompensate,

Be content with small places, the local, the short story

Rather than the saga; take pleasure in private jokes,

In expressions that cannot be translated,

In references that can be understood by only two

or three,

But which speak with such eloquence for small places

And the fellowship of those whom you know so well

And whose sayings and moods are as familiar

As the weather; these mean everything,

They mean the world, they mean the world.