Dunes

The strange effect of the late afternoon light on the Moorfoots, giving the impression that the city is about to be overwhelmed by a great sweep of shifting sand.

Two men come to mind: one horribly and the other with a little sadness.

Dunes are inextricably linked at the moment with the awful image of Trump's flap of hair as he tramps the Menie Estate.

But also, Edwin Morgan's sonnet 'The Desert' from his collection 'Sonnets from Scotland' in which the country's past and future are imagined, extraordinarily. The opening lines are:

There was a time when everything was sand.
It drifted down from Findhorn, south south south
and sifted into eye and ear and mouth
on battlefield or bed or plough-bent land.