If the power comes on after a count of five, it means a swan hit the line.
In a pub at the end of the Scottish north, light matters.
Far from long sunsets over the San Andreas Fault & Soda Lake
I have imposed Solitary Confinement with single malt.
Some here remember Odin, god of bad weather,
Philosophy as commonplace as eating coastal cheddar, meat pie.
Sheep fleck landscape, wool & lunch on the hoof.
The suicide rate is low, even among magicians & poets,
Anomie almost unheard of, life is so hard
Like the ground, Bifrost Bridge lifting everyone's spirits.
Mirrored over the bar in amber & brown, fifty-nine reasons to keep drinking.