Apricot Press

in the woods they went, running under the trees
the boy and Friend, four paws and wagging tail
loyal as can be, Friend fetched the stick the boy threw
a bond greater than that amongst Men
since birth they had been friends, paw in hand they went
but when in the tree line Friend saw
moving branches and running Antlers
he ran faster than the boy could think
the boy called after Friend, tried to follow
but just fell and rolled in the snow
Friend had gone, out of sight
and the boy would weep for months to follow

out in the woods, the boy kept going
in the hope to find Friend and bring him home
on yet another snowy day
Friend came into view, as the boy cried after him in despair
Friend had turned into Wild, a lone wolf
his paw would never fit into the boy’s hand again
the boy begged him to come home
but Wild at heart ran away
the boy would spend his life searching
calling after Nature’s way

I was made for True North,
Made for the mountains, made for snow
For the ever-frozen Lochs
And the roads less travelled.

I was made for True North,
Made for trail adventures
Driving through the hills, through the night
Made for shooting stars
Scattered across the Shetland sky.

I was made for True North,
Made for a life of wanderlust, and chasing northern lights.
I was made for a life of wool socks, and boots.
Made to hold your hand: hills, seas, or woods.

Photo credit: Julien Riedel