Ensemble

Someone asked me if Mull had lived up to my expectations. That's a hard question; it presupposes I had expectations. I think I work quite hard not to allow myself expectations; expectations admit the possibility of disappointment. As a fully paid up superstitious pessimist, I know that if that possibility exists, it will probably happen. If you have no expectations (or convince yourself you have none) then anything bad is just what you (as a pessimist) would expect from life, and everything good is a nice surprise

Maybe I had hopes, rather than expectations. Hopes can of course be dashed, but they are less risky than expectations, they involve less personal investment. They are less likely to catch the attention of the capricious gods, who like nothing more than to frustrate human ambition

I'm not advocating this approach to life. "She never had dreams, so they never came true" sang J Geils Band; there's a lot of truth in that. But my nature is what it is. I came to the island with the hope that living here for a while would offer a little perspective on life at home. And the hope that some shimmering reflections from the sea would be enough to hold off the melancholy of fading winter light

Mull is generous; it has fulfilled these hopes and more. Today dawned pink crystal clear, the peaks on distant islands crowding the horizon for attention. We drove through a sparkling landscape then walked to the land's edge, spotting rainforest as we went along. Sunshine blinding-bright, contacting space, distant islands almost in touching distance now, sky and sea competing for colours, biting cold wind more blessing than curse, all our perception wound up to maximum.

Weary-legged we returned from our benefaction and headed home. But, not quite ready to accept the end of such a day, we pull in beside the sea. Oyster-catchers, herons, cormorants, curlew - the shore is busy. On the horizon - a trick of the light - boats float above the surface of the sea. Sunset bursts across the sea in molten lava colours, accross a wide horizon arc; at the same instant, the moon, almost full, rises above the hill behind the beach. A lone eagle flies low above us, hunting done, heading for a roost

Along the shore-line, I found a souvenir rock of a type I thought I would not now see. Walking back, we spot an otter, repeatedly diving to hunt, sometimes returning to shore to eat; thrilled, excited, we watch until we are chilled. We head for warm fires, but the day has more to give. Arriving back at our base, sunset is not yet bored with its display, so we indulge ourselves one more time, and we watch a single swan fly out of the western sky and along the darkening valley in front of us, a final note of the symphony

Who could expect such things?