Month: March 2024

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River walk.

Skaggling geese haul blankets of snow cloud from the north. Water lies sullen on the claggy winter fields. Grey river mud slides slow curves between the reed beds brittle whisperings and Spring seems in no hurry to arrive. Across the field lie the remains of armament warehouses, dozens built in a regular grid formation for use during the second world war. Ammunition was sailed up the Forth to be unloaded by crane and stored here, away from Edinburgh in the east. The crane is still on the riverbank, it’s railway track all but gone. Pushing through the head high reeds it is possible to get a closer look at the little blue crane, it’s arm outstretched, waiting for another shipment. The tide is on the turn, covering its tracks, lapping the small island where seagulls sleep. Grey settles, stains the day.

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Pentland hills.

Watercolour crayon and coffee.

A walk today, away from the studio into some air and light and smirry rain as it turns out. A softness of grey cloud hangs low, brings a flatness to the hills, makes them feel closer, intimate. High up, a small reservoir that was built solely for the use of the mills downstream shivers in the prickly wind. Lapwings dance with wigeon, geese and a cormorant, all observed from the comfort of a bird hide made it would seem as a place to eat sandwiches and draw and drink coffee whilst looking at the drifting rain. For being so close to Edinburgh it is surprising how isolated it feels. I imagine winters long gone where snow would lie for weeks, cut off. A map shows the paths up and over and round these hills – drovers highways, covenanters caves, roads of thieves. A bridge over a small burn carves its serpentine route and this whole landscape seems based on curves – this way and that- the hills and burns and the lapwings cartwheeling across the sky. Face smarting from exposure to the fresh air, tired legs follow the track back to the car. The sun comes out and I carry the smell of the hills back home.