Two photos taken from more or less the same spot, about 45 minutes apart. Two squalls of rain clearly visible, one over Loch Striven and the farmland in the foreground; one over Bute after the sun had set. It's a different place at dusk, I think - even the birds sound different. And on a day like today, I reflect on the process that brought me here from the city all those years ago - a move that hits me with its strangeness after yesterday in my childhood stamping grounds.
And we didn't meet a soul.