I see the smurr moving in. I watch it veil the hills, cloud the sea-loch, tamp down trees into stalks, conjoin with the cloud-controlled sky, as if we down here become one with the up there. It moves slow, this smurr, rolling in. It has little power beyond itself for a short time. But, in the moment it disappears the beyond, even the immediate beyond, is surprisingly discombobulating. I know what’s over there. It is always there. Now, in this smurr, it invisibles. It takes a minute or two to re-orientate, particularly so had I been walking to the pub, which I am not. Just saying.

When a known boundary clouds, when a well known path shifts out of focus, it is unnerving. We all know this place. It falters us, halts our forward step, but more than that, we wonder what the hell we are doing with this path walking thing. And, there’s a jerk, for sure. What to do? I cock my head at that. What I have done, have learned, is always the same thing, It’s a question. What do you want? I hate that question, because I didn’t know, or couldn’t say, more like.

The smurr is a coverall now. The sealoch is cloudy as milk. There’s a claiming thing going on here, between sky and earth. The un-leaved trees stand tall and unleaved. The hardly there daffodils point to the stars in hope. The snowdrops bend in compliance. The beauty of this is almost an answer. Almost.