Plean Saturday Night

We hoped to be by the sea tonight.
Camping on the shores of the Sound of Jura, listening to the lapping of the waves and the cries of the oystercatchers, maybe watching shooting stars.

Instead we are at home with peats burning, a one pot dinner cooked outdoors and music drifting from the open patio doors.
Not complaining though; delicious food, chorizo and chick pea stew, salad dressed with the now legendary lemon verbena, homey and garlic dressing. The slightly charred chorizo adding to the authentic camping flavour.
G has forsaken me as the midges bit and my intuitive iPod shuffled the music to Madeleine Peroux, Brian Kennedy, Mary Coughlan and Darden Smith. Tom Waitts' Waltzing Matilda was the final straw.
The swallows have roosted and the bats are flitting as are the cats, ghosting in and out of the house in the dark. Maybe ours maybe not.

The woodsmoke is now an aromatic mingling of peat and pine logs. I am in the moment. On the verge of something I don't know what. Maybe it is the future of my homeland, maybe my life.
I love this time, this perfectly still evening, music and fire. Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's my troubled spirit. Please don't ever end.