Farewell, Heatherybean
It’s the type of day that can only be described at dreich. That marvellous Scottish word that perfectly evokes the damp, drab days that have little character beyond being rubbish. But there’s joy to be found in this too. The rain feels clean and gathers in the hidden nooks: my shoulders and elbows of my jacket lets the rain through first, but my hair and face are already covered in the fine droplets that make it so persistent. The colours of the landscape are muted and beautiful in their calm. The orchids shine out against the grass, both highlighted with droplets glistening in the pale light. The air is still and the grass flower heads hang heavy with moisture. The delicate agrostis is plumes of rain, frozen in time. Any spider webs that have survived the heavier showers are spun of silver, drops of moisture spread along the strands, creating mirrors of the world. The spiders themselves are tucked into sheltered spots, inside taps, crevices and tunnels, waiting the passing of th
