Head of the glen

I often walk up/in Glen Massan, but it's a while since I was up at the head of the glen, where the gorge opens out into a wide, flat area with a few frisky Highland cattle neatly evading, this afternoon at least, all attempts of man, trail bike and dog to persuade them to go up the road, and a few sheep who seemed, from their corporate alarm at our approach, to see very few visitors. In fact, the head of the glen is like the land that time forgot: the house that stands just behind where I was standing is empty and uncared-for, the new artificial lake that was dug some years ago has settled in and now looks natural, and we saw not a soul beyond the hapless cowboys near the beginning of our walk.

It is obvious that there are forestry operations at the road leading on out of this paradise, but today all was silent and the birds sang and darted as if they owned the world.

Which, in a sense, they do ...