A field of grass rather than anything more edible - though I suppose it might become silage - overlooking the blue of Loch Striven (with some wee white horses in the afternoon southerly wind) and the blue remembered hills of Arran, where despite all my promises to myself I've not succeeded in visiting this year. I hear it's become busier than ever with the introduction of road equivalent tariff on the ferries - maybe a winter visit would be better?
A lovely walk, as usual, rather marred at its end by the discovery of an enormous yellow lorry and associated hardware, parked in the lee of a huge mound of freshly-piled earth. The place where we used to go and sit on the edge of a field where it dropped onto the shore is no more, and a flattened area suggests buildings will follow. A horrid feeling of things changing irrevocably, and a burst of impotent fury ...
So I needed the distant hills to look on.