I came here
to clear my head—

or at least…
that’s what I told myself.

The Cairngorm Mountains
don’t ask questions though—
they just stand there…
like they’ve already heard it all before.

And maybe they have.

Because up here—
everything feels older than me.

Older than my worries,
older than my mistakes,
older than the things
I can’t quite let go of.

The peaks don’t rush.

They don’t chase anything.

They just rise—
slow, stubborn, certain—
like they’ve made peace
with being exactly what they are.

And I’m walking—
boots crunching through gravel and frost,
breath hanging in the air like unfinished thoughts—

trying to figure out
how to do the same.

There’s a kind of silence up here…
but it’s not empty.

It hums.

Wind brushing past my ears
like it’s trying to say something—
like it’s been saying it
for thousands of years
and I’ve only just turned up to listen.

And then—

I swear—
I catch movement on the ridge.

Not fear.
Not danger.

Just…
something unexpected.

A man—
full kilt, wild grin,
spinning like the mountain gave him music
only he could hear.

Boots stamping,
arms wide,
laughing into the wind like it belonged to him.

And for a second—
I forget everything heavy.

Because how can you carry weight
when someone’s dancing
on the edge of the sky?

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe the mountains aren’t just about solitude.

Maybe they’re about release.

About letting go of the version of you
that needed answers—
and becoming the one
who can just… stand there,
breathe it in,
and laugh at the sheer madness
of being alive.

Below me,
rivers carve their way through the land—
not asking permission,
not checking the map—
just moving forward
because that’s what they do.

And I realise…

maybe I’ve been trying too hard
to control the path
instead of just walking it.

Up here—
nothing fights the wind.

It bends.
It shifts.
It survives.

Even the mountains—
as solid as they seem—
are changing, slowly, quietly,
over time.

And somehow…
that doesn’t make them weaker.

It makes them eternal.

Now, I stand here—
between sky and stone,
between who I was
and who I might become—

and for the first time in a while…

I don’t feel lost.

I feel small.
I feel free.

And somewhere—
on a distant ridge—

that kilted stranger is still dancing,
like joy is the only thing worth carrying.

And maybe—

just maybe—

he’s right.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

A young man journeys into the Cairngorms, where wild beauty, quiet reflection, and a dancing kilted stranger reveal freedom, laughter, and the courage to simply be.

#Cairngorms #SpokenWordPoetry #ScottishHighlands #WildAndFree #PoetryJourney #MountainSoul