Everyone should have a friend in Dunvegan,
her small brick house with one front gable
built close to the road, seeming
to have grown out of the north Ontario land,
or to have become part of it.
Climb the stairs late after red wine talk.
Fall asleep in the narrow room
with its simple cot and wash stand
only night and wind outside.
Wake to the brush of an oak branch
against the window
slow seep of uncluttered dawn.