Sun and loss

One of the odd things that both my pal and myself are finding about this non-holiday is that our brains don't seem to function normally - especially in the mornings. It's very strange how, having cleared the decks for our non-attendance, we can't think of what we'd normally be doing. The result is that I do very little, except maybe phoning people.

That's what happened this morning, when I got the news that a friend had died, not unexpectedly but far too young. It perhaps gives some idea of the kind of person she was if I tell the story that once, when asked by my then bishop what kind of person I would like to have as our next rector, I said I would like someone like R, as she was someone I'd like to have at my dying. She had purple hair, the most infectious of laughs, a real capacity for empathy, and she was 15 years younger than I am. I feel sad knowing she's gone.

The afternoon looked promising, and my pal and I felt the need of solace. We went for a quiet walk through Benmore Gardens, where the rhododendrons are increasing in flower-opening and the daffodils are thick on the ground. The sun appeared just as we arrived, and by the time we were almost ready to leave it was warm enough to sit on a bench in the one-time formal garden and enjoy the silence. 

The news continues to appal, and the sight of Putin making one of his speeches to his people was chilling. And then we had the Scottish news which explained why a friend had seen police and crime-scene officers in the hills between Dunoon and Tighnabruaich - looking for the victim of a decade-old murder. Barbarism on both ends of the scale.

Blipping the scene at the end of the afternoon - two dog-walkers beside the River Eachaig, with a field of sheep (no lambs yet) behind them, in the late afternoon sun.