Teetering

It was Sunday. A Bank Holiday Sunday. Other people were lining up their camper vans just beside where I was standing to take this photo of the Arran Hills over the Highland Fault where it runs through Bute - they were on holiday, presumably thinking of having tea. And we both felt as if we were teetering, slightly off-balance, juggling lives like any clown on a wire.

Actually church was lovely - the sunlight streaming in through stained glass, the feeling of being surrounded by community, the familiar liturgy in the voice of our new Rector, the little differences that we'll soon regard as the norm ... And I was trying to feel settled, not to have that knot in my stomach as the concert on Tuesday was being publicised ...

Because that will be the next thing. We weren't home till almost 1pm because of all the socialising, and we had to have some lunch because I'd not really had enough breakfast. And because it was a beautiful day, I took the Observer outside after I'd eaten, and fell asleep reading it in the warmth of the corner with the hard fake-wood seat. And then I thought I'd better make a gesture towards sorting holiday clothes, and went inside and did just that. I even went so far as to fill two packing cubes.

But it felt ridiculous to be doing this on a lovely afternoon, the sun shining into the back bedroom where I'd gone crazy looking for a pair of sandals I've not had on for a bit and had become very overheated with the effort of crawling about the floor in the sunshine. (They were under the bed. Of course they were.) But the box didn't look like what I thought I was looking for, and other stuff had found its way in front of it, and I had almost given up. So yes - it felt crazy. Off we went, back down the road towards Toward, on to where the Ardyne shore road stretches towards the sunset. Not that sunset was anywhere near arriving - instead it was bright and blue with the cool wind beginning to make a nuisance of itself. We didn't walk far, but there were darting birds (swifts? swallows? strange low call as they scooshed past?) and curious young bulls, a whole gang of them that we found in the bed of a small burn - a land-drain, really - among the dead gorse bushes. We wondered if they enjoyed having their backs scratched by the gorse, and they were certainly interested in us, pushing their way up the bank and over to the fence, where they snorted gently and gazed at us with these wide, wonderfully-lashed eyes. 

And then home for dinner - passing a wildfire on a cleared patch of hillside above Innellan - and the at the moment nightly ritual of watering the pots on the patio. And I couldn't help thinking how odd people were to have a garden rubbish fire on a day when there is such a stern firewarning and the smoke in two places to remind us. We also passed two hearty clumps on the beach of Japanese knot weed and wondered how many people bothered about it. 

When we got home it all felt normal for a change - dinner, some wine, cleaning a bit of the fridge (not me - family this time!) 

Now, limbo or not, I'm falling asleep at the keyboard. Happy Bilpdays to anyone who feels unnoticed, and an apology to you all for my lack of visiting and comment recently. Should do better. I'll try!

(Extra of the Ardyne Burn looking sunlit for a change)