Friday, 26 February 2016

Orcadian Elemental

A skein of honking geese hug the contours of the land. A black bag, ripped, flaps against a barbed wire fence. A window creaks in an abandoned house. The wind gets everywhere, like water. Ducks are alarmed at my approach. By the time I reach them, they are only ripples in the burn.

A hailstorm sweeps the landscape. I bow my head and plough on. The green earth has turned white. A hint of red amongst dawn's greys.

My run's objective is the broch. Inside its thick walls it is calmer, the howl of the wind different, a bluff buffeting as if waves against a ship's hull.

I take a still moment, a deep breath, and head back.

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