Iíve never ever seen as many rainbows in the sky,
But since we moved to these here parts Iíve noticed by and by,
On any day at any time you more than likely see,
A multicoloured work of art, laid out for you and me.
Who is this magic artist, and what here his design?
I wonder how it happens for itís perfect every time.
I look at it with wonder each and every time I see,
Have you not noticed also for it canít be only me?
The sky can be as black as coal, with just a single ray,
Bright sunlight beaming through the dark, itís usually the way,
When all about is gloomy and youíre feeling pretty low,
The weather has us all depressed, thatís how it is I know.
Then suddenly you see it and your mood is glum no more,
And you begin to realise just what your heart is for.
I feel a sense of awe, a sense of wonder I confess,
Iím privileged to witness all the rainbows of Caithness.
At the closing of the evening when the shadows do grow long,
When the earth begins to slumber and we hear no more bird song.
The cattle are a sleeping and the sheep all chew the cud,
And everything is peaceful, just imagine if you would,
That deep within the body of a long since ancient tree,
The wise old owl is stirring, Majestic now is he.
For this is his dominion, inherited as right,
He comes into his own amongst the creatures of the night.
He soars above the ridges, along the rocky crags,
Purveying all the riches and the booty that he bags.
And like a single spectre, he sees the dawning light,
As sunlightís rays come reaching with the ending of the night.
She sets a golden mantle, along the mountains edge,
Her golden cloak now covers every rocky windswept ledge.
The wise old owl is watching, he knows heís not alone,
He knows who else has seen it all, before he now heads home.
And as he swoops away on ever powerful broad wing,
The fast approaching sunlight causes early birds to sing.
He hustles into comfort in his faithful ancient tree,
Twas the Billy on the mountain that wise old owl did see.
And this old boy has seen it all for many years gone by,
For what he does believe in heís prepared to live and die.
As morning now approaches, as ever heís on guard,
Life has not been kind to him, in fact his lifeís been hard.
But now he is a handsome beast, protector of his flock,
To all upon this mountain heís their anchor, heís their rock.
The one who all do look to, for guidance and for strength,
Heíd give for them his life, no hesitation, fight at length.
Heís out there keeping watch for any threat, for any foe,
He will protect each youngster, every yearling, every doe.
And every day that comes he sees the owl back to his tree,
He watches sunlight bathe his flock with hopes of what may be.
And ever in the distance, he keeps a watchful eye,
This lad has seen it all before, what happens by and by.
And at the close of evening, when all are settled down,
When shadows start to lengthen, and evening brings her gown.
The moon puts in attendance, and dances on the stream,
And all upon the mountain know exactly where theyíve been.
He hears familiar noises, he recognises sound.
Is that old owl a calling? Oh yes heís coming round.