Ne’er day windy walk

Half past noon I set out. Empty were the streets. Up the hill I went, beside the winter barley. The gale was steady, strong. When I paused to look over Cromarty, its roofs and Firth, the wind was so fierce I had to lean backwards, heavily, to stay upright. Then it dropped and I fell over backwards. Nearly, anyway.

Into the wood, where ancient trees made such sounds above that I turned and came out.

Few people out. The Scots wishing each other a happy new year, stopping for a chat. Holiday house owners from England embarrassed to be so addressed, muttering something into their scarves and walking on. Why? Why do they come?

Despite the locals’ bonhomie, nobody optimistic about 2022. Much anger, frustration.