In Love Again

I'm just back from a few days up north. I always get a shock as I drive up the coast, round the bends at Berriedale, and eventually emerge out onto the Causewaymire. Its bleak. There's nothing there. Weeks and months spent in the city shrinks my horizons; I get used to built-up streets and estates, hustle & bustle, advertising and traffic everywhere. There's always something in front of you, and it close up and in your face and noisy as hell usually.

Head up north, and the further you go, the less there is. Caithness in November, is a landscape blasted by gales and sleet. It's miles and miles of rolling moorland in dreich greys, browns, blues and purples. The wind turbines turn steadily, clustered against a wild backdrop of Morven and storm clouds. When I see it all for the first time in a while, it makes me gulp. Is this really the place I love and miss so much? I get out of the car, and am halfway knocked off my feet by the wind. Its bloody cold, and the hail stones sting. I hurry indoors, and close the door behind me.

But by the next morning, I am in love again. The sky rolls by ever changing, and creates unique moments of light that make my spirits sing. Three geese honk overhead in formation. The wind roars through the tops of the Braehour forestry. The moors unfurl ahead of me as I run out to Loch More. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, not in the whole wide world.