I’m back from having been away.
Away was amazing: wild, westerly, windswept, with all the time you need to walk, and watch and think and read.
Here is where we return to: when the bags are unpacked, when the meditation bell stops ringing.
Here is shale bings and the drift of smoke hanging in the air above the refinery; here is the hills of the highlands on a clear day, beckoning.
Here is the cloying smell of Indian balsam, choking the river banks; here is two hours walking by the river in soft September sunlight, with only one man and two dogs to interupt my dawdling.
Here is running out of different walks and the frustration of repeating the same-old; here is heading out again with my camera in hand, and remembering the deep, intimate love of the known.