Robin

I have not had the heart to blog since Jackie died.

Saturday morning. I’m sitting on a rock on a beautiful sunny day on a pebble beach along from the tiny hamlet of Corran, in Arnisdale. James is climbing a couple of Corbetts and I have walked a couple of kilometres past the end of the public road, past the last of the cottages. I am completely alone. The only sounds are birdsong in the trees behind me, and the rippling of water over the stones at the edge of Loch Hourne. I am surrounded on three sides by the grassy, heathery Barrisdale hills, and across the loch is the distant jaggy outline of the Cuillins of Skye. Today they are grey blue against the pale blue sky, which is has a few wispy white clouds trailing across it. The rock that I’m sitting on has many layers, grey and brown, shot through with pink and white quartz. 

Saturday Afternoon. Now I’m outside the café at Glenelg, looking down and across the narrow strait towards Kylerhea on Skye. The tiny turntable ferry, brightly painted red, white and green, is on its way across the dark blue water. There is a pleasant hum of conversation from the other picnic tables around me, but I still feel very peaceful and solitary as I sip my coffee. Suddenly a robin lands on the grass at my feet. It hops around and I give it some cake crumbs, then it flies up to sit on the branch of a tree. We look at each other for a good few minutes before it flies away. Goodbye my friend.