An Orkney Outpost

Having overnighted in the highland centre for tourists of above average BMI, we set forth for home this morning into an invisible world of mist and rain. Only the road ahead could be seen through the windscreen wipers: the mountains were lost in clouds which reached down to ground level.
It was a relief to find sunshine in Edinburgh when we arrived home.

With everything unpacked and our holiday over, I have declared this corner of Edinburgh an Orcadian outpost, and have consequently raised the flag on the patio.

I have my photos to remind me of our Orkney sojourn, but they have no soul and it is the memories which remain uppermost in my mind: the blue of water and the variations of green and yellows in the fields against the blue sky, the sensation of sun and wind on my face as I pedalled through a landscape of bird calls, the bobbing of bright fishing boats tied up in the harbour, the cut hayfields full of oyster catchers and the cattle, black cream and brown watching over fences as we pass.
Lastly and most importantly, I am not forgetting the time spent with the friends I have made in these islands through the medium of Blipfoto.

To quote George MacKay Brown once more: The essence of Orkney's magic is silence, loneliness and the deep marvellous rhythms of sea and land, darkness and light.