08 Jun 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.
06/08 Northern Scotland
Tracking down each of the antiquities had the feeling of a treasure hunt and we never felt lost because we could always find signs of life behind the pub door. One of these nights while wandering I discovered the pub door was locked, so I entered an old grave yard across the way seeking the unknown. It was dark at eye level, even darker after gazing up at the million of stars looking down upon me. The trees reached out like long fingers casting shadows across the gravestones. The moon was just peaking over the horizon, not quite full and my ears began to focus on the smallest of details. I was alone, prepared and waiting for the dead to rise. I allowed my mind to wander to the realm of what if, almost fabricating shadows into figures and noises into whispers. I could almost make it real but it wasn’t. No sea monsters and now no ghosts.
Every so often an urge rose up inside me to climb a mountain, trek up a waterfall, or just meander along the coast. It was nice to have the ability to stop and feel the earth. It was good for me to have an adventure each day. Climbing allowed me to experience the smells, get a little bit of earth stuck to the bottom of my shoes and that invaluable feeling of surveying the landscape for additional signs of life and confirming that I am alone. There have been times where nature’s music reached down deep into my soul, second only to the passion for a woman’s breast and her beating heart. The darkness says good night and I think to myself, “I am in heaven.” An older gentleman explained that the roads here are so narrow they have named each side, “The passing side and the suicide” and he reminded me not to drive too fast or forget the sheep own both sides.
Like soft rain on the morning rose, the song from a murmuring stream,
the peace from which solitude flows, is life’s eternal theme
And we like these spring rain drops fall, for we shall meet and run,
for in the end we will meet again, all flowing into one
Like the heart of spring lies yearning, where tender kisses rain,
love and life returning, all hearts will bloom again
