Rising above it all ...

Weekends - and particularly Sundays - have been problematic in one respect ever since I was a child. Back then, it was the tendency for my parents to insist I accompany them on a walk (don't laugh) through the West End of Glasgow, on routes so tediously suburban that I thereafter always thought of them as being a type: The Sunday Afternoon Walk. As an adult, however, it was on foreign holidays that I realised that on Sundays the places we as tourists liked to visit would be full of local people having picnics so that there was no room for us. And then we moved to Argyll. While winter Sundays - the non-church part - remained just like other days, summer weekends, and especially summer Sundays, became problematic. From the beaches we liked for their peacefulness to the walks we enjoyed having to ourselves - everywhere we'd find People.

And of course, like everything else, it's been worse this past year. All manner of people who would never normally set foot on a forest path or gather in a glen have discovered The Great Outdoors, and usually drag along a dog or two to make it even busier.And so it was that today, even though it's certainly not yet summer and in fact was jolly chilly in a brisk north-west wind, we sought out a track that really doesn't attract many visitors, a working forest area with the trail recently built up to accommodate the harvesting operations, and bashed our way up between the tall trees to this vantage point.

The photo was taken from a picnic bench, whose weathered wood runs along the foot of the picture. In the middle distance is Loch Tarsan, dammed at the far end for hydro power. Beyond that are the distant ranks of hills out to the west. There is a robin singing alone nearby, and I've just seen a buzzard take off from a branch and soar down a firebreak in search of some small creature. It's sheltered here, and my cold ears are coming painfully back to life. There's no-one here but us. Result.

In other news, today was the first anniversary of our church's first Zoom service. It was also the last Sunday morning online service, for next Sunday we shall be back in church, our beautiful, damp, chilly church on the hill, with our palm crosses. Last year we held them up to the computer screen; this year we can celebrate at least some of Holy Week in church. Our online community will continue - there were over 50 people attending this morning - but let's hope it's not necessary to close our buildings again. 

Now, chaps - what about letting us sing?