It is an angry old man’s face, with lines around his eyes where he laughs with his grandchildren.
In this country, it’s the sky that rules. The land is a footnote, where the afterthought lies, and the day’s emotions are clear in that sky. Quick to anger, but just as swift to reward, the sky changes our own moods through its capricious nature. And just when all seems black and heavy, there’s a moment when the horizontal rain hesitates, and the clouds part slightly; a shimmer of sunshine releases a rainbow and the air becomes exhilarated.
Big sky country. Back among the hills and glens of the mainland I start to feel enclosed. Even in my refuge, the forest, I look for the big sky. I ache for it, feel a homesickness for the raw nature of big sky life. The sunsets are glorious, the sunrises intimate and dramatic. The silence below the big sky is immense. Sometimes it makes me dance and jump with wonder, sometimes I want to howl, but out here the need for wolves is lessened: they were never here, will never be here and there's enough wildness in the eagles flying and the otter swimming for my heart to be content.
To be wild, to wander and know you'll not see another soul. To be on beaches that seem endless and to hear the call of the tern and to know, therefore that all the skies are connected for the tern has flown from the furthest skies to here. To feel the endless wind, that takes your regrets and flings them into the abyss: this is what the big sky country is all about.
This is my love letter to the place of wonder.