The weather was touch and go, with most of it either pouring or about-to-rain. We ran into a rude dog owner at Glencoe Lochen, which put a damper on one’s spirits. But — almost miraculously — the West coast was all sunshine-and-blue, with the sun playing peek-a-boo behind the clouds, the light glistening off the ocean water.
Breathtakingly lovely, especially after Bill pointed out the isles of Rhun, Eigg, and Skye in the distance.
I have no Scottish blood in me whatsoever, and what little Celtic genes I have is thanks to some random Spaniard(s) who stuck around in the Philippines between 1521 and 1898. I think the long Scottish winters, when the sun barely makes its appearance, because of Scotland’s proximity to the Arctic, would drive me nuts. But even native Scots don’t like the gloomy weather, especially when it’s dark and rainy. And my glee in seeing the sun peek through the Highlands-and-Islands mist was matched only by Bill and Christa’s glee in the sky brightening up.
Godlight, streaming down onto a misty mountain, into a cold-dark sea. O aye — inspires prayer, that does.