« Home. | Main | "...but this goes to eleven" »
December 09, 2004
short days, long memories.
As we head towards the solstice, the sun is a scant curiosity at these latitudes. The sky is slippery grey and dead fingers of trees prey for springtime.
I took a walk around the villages this morning, my breath hanging in the air and long slanted shadows never leaving me. Toadstools burst like blisters from between the toes of trees, fog sulking in the valley and crows coughing.
These days were made for pubs and fires, strong ale and stamping boots. A fish and chip lunch is warm to hold, stokes the inner furnace and takes on a relevance that can't be fathomed in a shady patio in California.
This is a haunting and beautiful place and feels more than real at this time of year. I wear it like an old coat. I will miss it more than I can tell.
Posted by Andrew at December 9, 2004 11:36 AM
Comments
"Toadstools burst like blisters from between the toes of trees".
You shore dew talk purdy!
Seriously - You've convinced me. Where do I sign up? I want you to take me on a tour of Scotland!
Posted by: thedude at December 11, 2004 08:49 AM
Great trip stories Andrew, I loved the toadstool comment and the description of your special time with your dad.
Tres
Posted by: Tres at December 14, 2004 10:02 PM