Spring alone, exactly where the northern Scottish light flutters into the firth. I have kept my breath about me, my wits extended considering the fact that left, wandering the cliffs of Banffshire, the Cairngorms mountains, and the fertile vales of Moray questing this octet of years for some truth whose nature’s under no circumstances noticed. Scotland’s beauty is strangely maddening for it calls into contrast all one’s ugly components, the misunderstood pieces, the ill-fittings. I took these orphans to the River Findhorn beneath the Dulsie Bridge exactly where I came on my honeymoon numerous moons ago.
The river snakes northeast and cracks like a whip when the rains are falling, particularly at Dulsie Bridge’s rocky gorge exactly where it vacillates among placid pool and raging torrent. I took its calm this day for a sign and followed the path to the viewpoint, then clambered down sandy earth and more than precarious stones to the waters edge to wait for inspiration. Cool air blew beneath the arch, the dark water swirling and spinning like drunken dancers. I watched and listened, acutely conscious that these moments had under no circumstances occurred ahead of, when a glittering, pearlescent salmon leaped from the river. Was that you, sensible Taliesin? A shiver akin to the rock spirals at Achnabreck, the Ring of Brodgar‘s tall stones, the mysticism of the fairy bridge overtook me. Yet another answer come into my pouch, waiting for the day I will decipher it with the other people, a day I could really feel coming quickly.