Sunday, 7 July 2013

More wind, less fly

Sunday morning, the roads are quite and a slow breeze moves through the trees and gently pushes them. A day that has no pace, reason or agenda for me. The sun has no barrier today. I walked towards my local forest; it is a day for watching the antics of dragonflies and butterflies or flutterbys as a friend calls them. The farm animals are all looking for shade and I feel like I should be doing the same. The air is rich today; fields of cut grass and the smell of the ever increasing blooms fill the air. I am looking today, trying to find something. A spark of inspiration is required, to be written down, made more solid. The dead skeletal remains of the Gorse is still catching my eye and so is the twisted remains of the sun bleached trees left behind by the harvester machines. Not the light, soft subjects I need and desire.

I sat for a while on a tree stump like an oversized gnome, I have the hat and the notebook will have to stand in for a fishing rod. If the heat continues to rise I may have a suitable rosy nose. With the tall trees shielding me from the light wind I am soon joined by the ninja of the fly world. I do like the eyes of these stealthy biters, bright vibrant green but this is where my interest ends. The horse flies were not fooled by my gnome impression and had come for a meal and that meal was me.

Later in the afternoon when the light spectrum shifted I continued at the coast road beside the Beauly Firth this afternoon; it has long been a favourite place, more wind, less fly. It was so much cooler than the morning, felt fresh and very relaxing. The tide was out and the only noise was the water retreating from the sand and mud. Everyone was watching the tennis; the road was quite although I met a couple who are good friends. They produce the finest banter, always in good spirits and are a real tonic. My feet felt heavy early on here, I would find no inspiration here. Stillness, this place could so easily induce sleep. Even bird song might have caused me to produce a stern look of disapproval, doubtful. I would walk up through the estate and past the castle ruin before returning to a benched area which is maintained by the community, time to move before I find myself bedding down for the night. I have other things to say, but remembering this place has had the same effect as visiting it.

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