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.