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Saturday, 1 February 2014

Saturday morning

A dry day in Caithness for a change - and the sun is actually shining! 
Outside my window lies undulating, unbroken countryside, still clothed in the pale green and washed-out umber of winter. The horizon fades into a misty blue, and strung across it, glinting white and solid as the sun-rays strike their shafts, is a march of windmills, their great blades turning slowly informing me that there is a wind, not just the quiet whisper that sighs in my chimney and trembles in the leafless trees.
Small, white, distant dashes indicate dwellings, and the fact that I am not totally isolated in this cold northern world. 
A ribbon of shining silver is visible now and then, a flash of sunlight fallen to earth between hummocks and dips and rises; the river, its boundaries extended by winter floods, snakes towards the sea.  
I should be out there now, booted feet sinking in the soft earth, my face drinking in the sunlight; swallowing  vitamin D so deficient from these northern climes.
Instead I sit in the warmth, glued to my computer, contemplating my day.

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