East.

The most easterly point in Scotland yesterday at Peterhead. I could go no further. Fences and barbed wire, steel work, netting, plastic and fishing detritus mark the end. The harbour is a space where everything I know of the world is redundant. Here is engineering, steel, speed, weight, scale beyond dimensions I understand. Tonnage of boat and net and hold. Fast cars speak of money from the herring and mackerel. A place of noise where fuelling and fixing and preparations are made for the next trip. Sun sparkles on the water in the harbour where grey seals play, waiting for their next easy meal, and it is hard to think about the nature of water beyond the sea wall as the gales promise to swing in from the northwest in the next few days. All of it I can only imagine.

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