The sun came out for a few hours today, to spoil me. Neil Gaiman once described the north of Scotland as a place where “the bones of the world show through,” and although I am nowhere near that, brooding in in Ediburgh and overhearing stuffy conversations about art (really now – if you’re viewing a delightful picture in a delightful museum, do you HAVE to launch into a “oh yes, naturally we have some of his work, but ours are from a more refined period in his life…”?), I can feel these bones here as they slope toward the surface of things.
Which is not to say I am not feeling terrific. I am. Edinburgh is exactly the sort of visually intense place I could picture myself settling in if I had more options. You can feel yourself swishing in through the ghosts at night here. Or do they actually swish through you? I can never tell.
I’ve another adventure planned for myself tomorrow – I’m horrible with adventures, really, but I must do what I have set out to do or I will hate myself later – don’t know yet if it will be a raging disaster or a pinnacle of awesome. Let’s just say it involves heading back south, for now.