And tonight the sky would be huge with stars.
Tomorrow there would be the distant islands
cut out of sugar paper, or else cloud, the rain
in great veils
coming in across the water, the earliest tenderest
feathering of green on the trees, mibbe autumn
laying bare the birches stark white.
From Favourite Place by Liz Lochhead
A week at Moniack Mhor. Heaven.
A retreat to write, to walk, to spend time in the recesses of the heart.
Up before dawn, and out into cold air that rinses the lungs, scrubs them. The first morning is a walk through a watercolour landscape, a wash of light wetly blossoming in the east. It is not the child’s glitter-covered card of last year. These are subtler delights. Lichen laces tree trunks and wooden posts. A stag lifts his antlers from a tangle of fallen branches. I watch him watch me, a portrait framed by squares of wire. A pony, brown, scruffy, slops and clops through the slush of mud, keeps pace with me on the other side of the fence.
On another day I descend the hill, turn right into the pine forest, follow the track that diminishes, sinks into bog, until I am ankle deep in brown water, socks soggy. The whirr of a woodcock, the sight of it, ridiculous beak and humming wings, makes the climb back to the house worthwhile.
And then, what I have wanted all week, a morning of sparkle and silver, as the sun breaks over the hills and lights up the frost covered land. Trees flame. The rattle of a crow, the lonely bleat of sheep.
(Moniack Mhor is Scotland’s creative writing centre, located in the Highlands, not far from Inverness. It offers tutored and untutored writing retreats. This was my second stay there and it was once again a fantastic week full of warm conversation, great food, and lots of inspiration for writing. Highly recommended.)
For more information see http://www.moniackmhor.org.uk
One touch of nature 
Beautiful!
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