The air feels fresher, that's the first impression of the day, the second is that it's still grey - the pavements below still damp from a night of rain, the edge taken off the air, less humid, cooler. Getting out for an early walk making sense, restricting myself to two cups before stepping into a breeze from the north, the temperature definitely down, comfortable if not, quite, chilly. Stopping at the supermarket to buy a bottle of water for the slightly higher hills, realising that I've forgotten my mask, can't enter, but disinclined to go all the way back to the flat. The walk's curtailed by the choice, the virus has closed all of the public taps around the city, the water fountains spread across the hills wrapped in cellophane, awaiting the all clear.

Today the paths are quiet, people sparse as I pass beneath leaves cradling globes of water in suspension, watching random drips falling through familiar cold humidity, thoughts trailing towards memory; the haar flowing up from the Forth, the chill of the east wind as it permeates cloth and skin. Distances devoured, the haze hanging upon the air, a weave of imprecise shapes rising, darkened from its cloak, through both eye and imagination. Down now, a new path, finding myself lost once again, surprised when I step out into the courtyard of a huge temple, recognise a covered path leading to a collection of derelict Buddha figures alongside an untended trail, rickety ladders climbing through boulders into the almost forgotten quiet...




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5310fFktbU&t=6s