The sea-loch is so still as to be a mirror to the sky. A loan of sheep wander along the very edge of the far shore showing their tapselteerie reflections so that they look like more than a loan. From here, they seem to be walking on water. Above them, banked in between the hills and following the high-rise hill road, a whispish mist leans against the hillsides, hiding bits. I can see so clearly how the ancients thought eerie. These mists can float over water when two colds meet, one greater than the other, arguing for place. I know that if I turn away, and then return, the sun will have played peacemaker and sent both back home to think again.
The day blooms into warmth and sunlight after rain. This time of year is almost fiction. One minute you know exactly who does what and then all it takes is for lunchtime to call and you look again and are left in wonder. Right now, it is almost time to cook supper and yet, and yet, the sun calls and the shadows are timely long and it seems rude to turn indoors. Everything shouts for just another minute of this glorious retreat, this promise of a red sunset, a red sea-loch, a lone seal lit up like a Christmas bauble and the twist of a turning tide.
But needs must. I am nearly packed for Africa and the broccoli needs cooking for himself by 6 sharp. I have laid out, packed, unpacked, packed again. Does anyone else do this? Will it be too heavy, will I have the right kit, should I just take one of everything? I have to return to the cold, remember, and that needs a wee consideration or two. Leaving everything I possibly can think of in place for my 2 month absence means diddly squat. I will have forgotten something.
And, then, I think this. The tide will still turn. The light will rise and it will fall. The rain will come and the sun will heal. And all of this whether I am here or not. Whether I am long dead or very much alive. Whether, weather, whether.
So, broccoli already late, I am heading out to watch the sun turn the sea crimson. I won’t be seeing her for a long time. She’ll be fine. She knows her way, my old friend.