Elizabeth wrote to me about Orkney light

Twenty-two hours of it, she says.
I picture her, shedding the smother of winter,
slipping the stifle of woolen skins, unbuttoning
what has kept out the chill, emerging,
yarn-born. She feels the heat penetrate
her layers. She is glad to be rid of the itch
Elizabeth says you can follow the glow
as it moves around the horizon.
That through the warmer months,
it never really fades. I want her to tell me
about staying awake through simmer dim.
So much light then so much night to follow.
Elizabeth’s letter mentions the winter gales,
how they howl to pieces everything you own.
How it seems there is only half a day
before dark. You do wonder, Elizabeth says.