Startled, I awake in my enveloping armchair to memories of adventures past. Those days when limbs were made of quicksilver, when sweat was the oil that lubricated joints and not evidence of grinding effort. When the senses had just been created in Eden:

A window of time past opens:

I’m poised on the top of the Cullin Ridge, the ridge that strides across the western edge of magical Skye where ghosts of ancient peoples guard the fables of our forbearers.

I am a bird just alighted on the sharp and weathered rocks, my feathered feelings alert to the slightest breeze climbing up and over the march of the peaks that stand before my hawk like eyes.

The weather is untypically calm, In the blue ocean of her sky, her domain, the sun blesses me with her beneficence, the warmth of existence glows within me like the kindling of a fire.

My body feels light, as if I could step up into the air and swim out into its crystal essence, every fibre of my body is alive as if I and the world had just been born.

I am suspended in time, everything frozen in its majesty before me, so that each and every detail reveals secrets that can only be understood when infinite time allows its detailed examination. Like a solarised image from a master photographer’s art, the contrasts and differences between each feature are emphasised in subtle energy lines.

My sight is drawn downwards to the quiet sea below, laid down as a cloak for fair ladies to walk upon. It’s enormous unconscious silent awareness seeping into my thoughtless mind.

Time stands still.

Then as if I created them in my mind, the lonely jewelled islands of Canna and Rum and Eigg are placed onto the sparling diamond flecked waters in view. I am their maker, placing them there in the archaeological game of chess as I create the world.

A seagull, arches out over the water, breaking into my reality, followed by Whig’s voice, reminding us that we still have hours to go if we are to reach the end of the ridge before nightfall.

Memories fade, I sit with my book of Scottish mountains on my lap. I will return soon to other memories of silent peaks and lost companions.

Silent Places