Picture This: Coigach Peaking

by Keith Savage

Beyond The Minch’s watery grasp and Loch Broom’s beckoning finger, north of the Summer Isles spilled in the shimmering sea, and west of all man’s thoroughfares, the Coigach peninsula reaches for the sun and stars. Lochs patter upon the intervening glen, tears from a blind god, as the earth throws wide its embrace. Stac Pollaidh, Cùl Mòr, and Cùl Beag bark in the mist ‘yond the wind-blown gorse. This is a chance, an open window, a doorway cracked and illuminated.

How wonderfully intuitive and unexpected, this, that venturing to the sacrosanct corners of our long-neglected but sought-after selves requires physical emplacement in the proper elements. Here you may reach a self, one of you left in the dark by chance or circumstance, now awakening, yawning and blinking in Wester Ross’s thick sunlight. The world is not our lives’ smeary backdrop. It is us, a cat’s cradle, every vista a sight glass turned inward. What do you see?

Listen: Martin Eden – etc_etc

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