Heated by the earth’s core,
Stirs a rolling boil.
Steaming waves of mercury
and gold, that I recall.

Glinting shards of sun’s light
Out across the bay.
Out of nowhere.
Out of this – unprepossessing – day.

Stir the soup of lava
Till lava flows no more.
Follow the crystal water flow
From hill to shining shore.

Magna from the cauldron.
Brew from the pan.
Storm from the bowl
Of the Corryvreckan.

Malt from the barley.
Smoke o’er the sprout.
All in the quest to
Coax the sugars out.

Wort through the washback.
Grist to the mill.
Yeast in the yield distill
The spirit of the hill.

The alchemy of weather,
Rockface, land and sky;
All the way from Islay
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Helen T Finnie
8th November 2017