magic

house

the trip crossing again the ross of mull, back toward duart castle, presented another spectacular side to the landscape, literally. random waterfalls spilled out of mountainsides, a lone white house against a vast green backdrop stood dramatically for something human interrupting the primitive, raw, wild plains and wetlands framed by shrouded mountains. we spotted shore birds indigenous to such regions. at one point i thought i spotted a marbled godwit. we passed by pheasant just a few feet away, and possibly a great blue heron. old moss-covered stones stacked, without mortar, formed what they call dykes, and they stretched for miles, a story in themselves. these stones had already stood for ages, and no technology could possibly improve them. it's just the way you stack them that keeps them together, still standing all these years later. it keeps going around in my head, this scene, and will not fade: its relevance and strength, its simplicity and its power.