There is a place

Rick Lee, wrote about his Harris Holiday whilst staying at àilean in Borve, South Harris.  His new book “A Ripple of Lies” will be published in late November 2012.

There is a place.

            At the edge.  The outer edge.  It’s a long haul.  You have to want to go there.

            It may be grey when you arrive with just the semblance of hills disappearing into the huddling gloom. Or you may have been treated to racing white clouds in a blue sky, the Sutherland peaks standing erect above the glacier scarred landscape like petrified dinosaurs.

            There is a place as you cross to the west where you come over a slight rise having negotiated your first few single track passing places.  On a sunny day with the tide high it will take your breath away.  In a gentle v-shaped view you’ll be offered a first sight of the myriad greens and blues and purples and browns you’ll come to love - your first glimpse of the white sand stretching into the distance on both sides and the island of Taransay lounging in the bay.

            But there’s more.

            There is more than one beach of satin sand stretching to the glittering sea.  There are millions of shells to be searched and treasures to be collected.

            You may find yourself lost in wonder in the buffeting rain as the waves rush towards you, the power of their thousand mile journey dashed in splendour at your feet.

Within minutes the sun will break through, the gannets flashing like black and white axes into the wallowing azure and emerald clarity not fifty yards away.  Perhaps a seal will appear and bob along, its mournful eyes watching you before it slips into the green depths.  Or busy dunlins will pickle back and forth across the wet sand in front of you.  Or you might raise your eyes to the humpbacked hills, where you can run with the deer and fly with the eagles.

Or you may wake in the night and stand in the cold air wondering at the enormity of a darkness filled with far more sparks of light than you’re used to seeing.

You may be befriended by a gaggle of wagtails fluttering at your windows or smile at the road gang of eleven very white sheep and three grizzly black ones as they hustle back and forth mowing the edges of the road.

You will need to return – because there is this place:  a terrible beauty which hangs at the edge of your minds when you’re not here, waiting for you to come back.



Rick Lee  www.attheedge.eu