just past high hairst
Everything lies on the edge of the dark jade sea.
I am listening to Donald Munro Graham’s recorded collection of verse, entitled Red Donal’s March Across the Atlantic, so rich in passion and Scot. Carbeth’s bard takes me back to this landlocked haven, as am about to walk my shore.
I barely noticed our rite of passage through the equinox, even though night has begun to duel with light. Now seven days away from wandering along the edge of the island without a watch, I can now photograph sunrise, which coincides with waking time.
Colours at dawn, dusk or at night begin to glow. Last Monday night alone, did we stand still inside stillness of our garden to marvel at the Northern Lights. This Nordic sky was filled with them! I love high hairst (or mid-Autumn).
The island looks so majestic in dimmer light. And as our closest star begins to fade behind my hill, I shall sit back close to the hearth until dusk knocks… I shan’t forget this first Sunday of October.