Thoughts of Arran

The air was pure and bright. A sea-salt tingle hovered in an easygoing offshore breeze. In mesmerising rhythm, wavelets sloshed and swished along the timeworn jetty wall. The bay was sparkling in the morning light as early gannets hungrily patrolled their crystal-clear domain.Slight movement now within the overnighting boats, safe moored, serenely sheltered at the break of day. A swan flotilla, now near fully grown and all in a row, in silence glided by, exploring weed and tidal offerings under a careful matriarchal eye. The year was moving on, the midges gone, and still the little ferry ploughed its course across the bay, its passengers intent on finding peace and personal content. The cafe at the pier, with clinking cups, was heralding the day, with early starters, few in number now. The summer throng dispersed and homeward bound, to feed on memories. For some, like me, a fitting epitaph might be “He lived his life in thoughts of Arran “.