Back to Edinburgh

We walk through the hidden streets of this city,
The second day of spring and the wind gusts hard.
People stop and wince, cupping their ears for warmth.
The news said blustery winds up to 25 mph,
And it feels as if we might tumble down the street.

Looking for simple woolen hats to pull down
Over our frigid heads, we stop at a Royal Mile shop. 
I select gray, and you opt for black. I am grateful
That your good felt hat is safe back at the hotel.

The street is so rich in history that it feels as if
It could reach out and grab us by the arms,
Pulling us down a small wynd or narrow close
That has a story to share,

And in the late afternoon gloaming,
We might be wind swept and turned around
Into some other time.

It could happen you know.