Dressing the Sheugh

It’s easy to see Da

Dressing the sheugh –

Lining out the slog,

His boot on the lug,

The spade slicing.

He’d square-off,

Nip the edges,

Tilt the handle down,

Flick the blade forward,

Lift in one sweep.

He’d step and swing 

From the trench

To the lip of the ditch,

Make it look easy,

From the first scoop.

If muck stuck,

He’d kick the spade,

Clout the clods off,

Slide his boot down

The blade to the tip.

He’d find his rhythm,

Bending to the work,

Eyes, head, back seasoned,

Straining the weight,

Straightening to the cowp.

Now and then he’d pause,

Eye the dull blade,

Sharpen the cutting edge

With the Bastard file,

Work the burrs in sparks.

He’d roll the spade,

Grip it in his oxter,

Spit on the back,

Repeat the same

On the front.

Sunlight crumbled

Through the daffodils

On the bank, before

He’d dressed the ground –

Admire his work in passing.