Feshie. A beautiful chaos. I arrive late and only half recognise the place, and even in the morning it's the same until I reach the upper reaches. The 'new' track is in pieces, washed away by waters allowed to run wild. I thought it had been three years since I was last here, but it's only been two. So much has changed. Me too, I guess.
My fettling done for now, I sit, watch and listen. I'm camped in a musical place, the river running over rock to my left and right, and the long, low sweeping arc of the meander right at my feet. The music expands and the river is a glockenspiel: High notes chime on my left, low registers to my right. The moon swoons in and out of the cloud. It's out in the clear now, stroking gentle shadows from the glades, then back it sways veiled behind gauze, stretched across a blackness untroubled with tungsten. And with it the contrast opens up, from blacks to greys, even hues of green and blues. I can see more of the glen, the river course, and the forest, growing again, all the time, growing.