Walking On Water
So many times have I passed this stretch of coast, promising to investigate further – one fine day. Today was that day – and parking near the local smokery on the ‘wrong’ side of the A75, I walked across. Low and behold – completely invisible to drivers – a beautiful little path onto the coast made itself known directly in front of me.
I’d been expecting having to overcome some wet, and possibly thorny obstacles.. this was a real find. Good start.
I’d driven out from under the pall of a very unusual, for these parts, bank of fog – a real pea-souper. I wasn’t sure how long this seering sun would last .. every hour or so a wind would arrive from a different direction and push the fog-bank nearer.
I’ve recently seen geese, swans, oyster-catchers, herons, small white egrets, and cormorants along here – from the car. None made an an actual appearance today – although at one point just below the bank seen here – I heard a fierce alarm call repeated over and over .. so I beat a hasty retreat for fear of causing some small-winged-mum a heart attack. In northern Scotland these would most likely be nesting stormy petrels – but I doubt that here.
It really felt as close to the coast as it’s possible to get. Walking along the shore, below the level of the road, in places, behind me – it must have looked as though I was walking on water. In places, I was.
Light glimmered. Waves lapped almost silently.
Millions of small creatures hidden in the sand, mud, water. No humans – except in passing cars.
Having happily spent the weekend with the dearest of friends in their beautiful house and garden on the edge – of both Edinburgh and the Pentland Hills; nonetheless I know that in my habits I am often a solitary creature myself, enjoying being surrounded by nothing but the land and the sea. It was hard to turn for home .. and back into the gloomy fog-bank.
As I approached Gatehouse I could see that my garden.. and the lane leading to the estuary at it’s rear were in full sun – while the rest of the little valley town was enshrouded in mist.
I carried a glass of wine down to the river – not even stopping to strip off my muddy gaiters and boots.
It’s good to be home.
Walking On Water