Stirlingshire Sunset

I was desperate to blip a sunset over water tonight but got lost in the hills looking for a wee loch on the road to Fintry.
Fortunately I blipped this on the way and as they headed towards the farm, their lowing and the sound of the swallows was all that could be heard.
I didn't care about the water anymore - there was peace in this place.
An old Scots poem came to mind,

"He wheepled on't at mornin' an' he tweetled on't at nicht,
He puffed his freckled cheeks until his nose sank oot o' sicht,
The kye were late for milkin' when he piped them up the closs,
The kitlins got his supper syne, an' he was beddit boss;
But he cared na doit nor docken what they did or thocht or said,
There was comfort in the whistle that the wee herd made."

From the "The Whistle", by Charles Murray