The skies have it ...

Ooh - see what I did there? Came to me in a flash of inspiration, that did ... But really. The sky was what dragged me out of bed this morning, doing the usual unwise window-hang thing before scurrying back under the duvet to finish my tea, and it was surely the sky that made our late afternoon walk utterly spectacular. In between, I have to tell you, it was positively dreary, though I believe there was snow in Edinburgh and other than on hills and inland a bit I've not seen any yet.

The morning went a bit askew after a sudden phone call from the organ-fixer to say that he was on the ferry had Himself scurrying up to let him into the church (We'd expected him some time next week, but maybe he took advantage of the weather). Meanwhile I had a couple of phone calls to make, downed a quick coffee, and hightailed it to the study to have a first shot at writing a sermon for next Sunday. (As I pointed out to a cleric of my acquaintance, we amateurs have to take our time over such things.) I find myself drawn to "Generation of vipers" as a suitable epithet for our times ...

I was just thinking that a walk would be a real duty thing to get the circulation going when I noticed the sudden appearance of the sun, just about to dip down behind the hills, casting a wonderful golden light over the town and the cloud miraculously breaking inland as well. We've not been to our favourite Benmore Gardens for a couple of weeks, and it was well worth the dark walk out at the end of our walk to be greeted by the amazing colours in the sky. So my main photo is of the River Eachaig turned to gold by the affluence of its fountain* but I've added an extra collage of the pink that was the dominant colour thereafter: the top left photo is the sunrise, the others the sunset clouds with various trees and/or hills silhouetted against them. 

One of the questions I found myself asking during the course of my sermonising was this: How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? And as far as today is concerned, sudden, unlooked for beauty doesn't half help.

* After lines from a poem by R.S.Thomas