It fondly traces its way,

an aroma filling my lungs,

searching out my soul

within my constricted chest,

opening up passages

of past life, breathed anew.

 

The cold collation of water and spirit burns,

gently, not a blaze, more a glow,

a malty glow of Islay peat,

And lo!

 

Trickling, sliding and falling,

a minor cataract,

bringing false drops to my eyes

and warmth to my heart.

The comfort it sends with its delicate fire,

there’s no ire for those tears to extinguish.

 

Just memories,

buried deep in the earth of my mind,

released on the scent, the event,

the down rushing content

of a day’s work done and a setting sun. 

 

For peace at last,

with a blood red moon,

and you,

lets me breathe again.