Far From The Madding Cloud
It has poured with rain for most of today; so as an antidote:-
One day last week..
Let’s head into the land of the setting sun.. and into this cloudless blue day. Stopping off in Kirkcudbright, at the petrol station opposite the harbour, where the forecourt attendant has a great view – an abstract segment looking like one of Audrey Hepburn’s headscarves.
Via the A75 towards Newton Stewart, loaded with camera’s, a hot flask, a pastie, and a mind as clear as the sky.. I stop for a coffee, overlooking frosty Mossyard beach, gazing toward Gatehouse.
Marvelling at the vast distances visible in the crisp light, I head off toward Newton Stewart and the gateway to the hills. As usual such a day makes me snap-happy – I’m easily persuaded to detour the six miles west to Wigton, where my favourite bookshop and cafe is under onslaught from a coach-party or ten… so I head to the harbour.
Behind the harbour, the nature reserve is flooded, and at one point I stand on a high bank, with the lake to my left, and the estuary to my right – each a mirror of the sapphire blue above us.
I can remember few moments as peaceful and uplifting. And, the day had hardly begun. I was hoping Newton Stewart would yield some bargains in the waterproof trouser department – to no avail. Plenty of time to find some before the big trip.
Post shopping (which always renders me anti-social) it was tempting to head further west to Portpatrick, but I was after pastures new. I had spotted snow on the hills.
Hampered by inadequate suitable kit – and probably a max’ of four hours light left – it wouldn’t have been wise to head up the hills on foot. But boy did I enjoy my car tour- punctuated with finger-freezing expeditions with the camera.
Winding down the windows, I sang to the sky.
Strangely, most of the wild goats scattered as I passed.
The sky remained clear throughout. It was good to escape into the wild, and I was glad to be..
Far From The Madding Cloud.